Back to the Opera House
by DarkXLightxmagique
Summary: What do you think would hapen when two friends go back to the Paris Opera House? Many adventures, of course. Movie Based.
1. Chapter 1

**Back to the Opera House**

After escaping the Paris Opera House, Christine and Raoul did not live an entirely perfect life together. Shortly after their marriage, Christine died giving birth to a baby boy, which, within and hour of the delivery, died.

Without a son, and without a wife, Raoul took peace in which can give us all cold comfort.

Death.

Out of mourning, out of rage, and out of anguish, Raoul killed himself. He slit his throat, finally finding peace among the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

In the Paris Opera House, after Christine's death, went poorly. The business was pitiful, and no one could ever dream of taking Christine's place. 'Twas three years after did anything different occur….

Rebecca brushed her long, light brown hair out of her face with her fingers, so her piercing blue eyes could stare out the window as her sister, Gloria, leaned against it, her very long, very dark hair created a curtain in front of her chocolate eyes as they, too were staring. It was late morning as the airplane carried them and the rest of their classmates to France for a trip that was required for French class. After long hours of watching movies on a portable DVD player and talking of their excitement, the plane slowed, and went down for a landing. Rebecca could feel her ears pop and heard the complaints of many others, including her sister, of the same sensation. The students exited the plane, and finally prepared for exploring the lovely country.

After visiting and learning of the other cities such as Melun and Bobingy, they could at last see Paris.

"Students," started the French teacher, "Since _musique_ is such and important part in culture, we shall visit an Opera House! Come; let us visit the Paris Opera House."

**Rebecca's POV**

Paris Opera House? That strangely reminded me of the Phantom of the Opera. Silly me, though, I wasn't too sure it was the same place…right? Well, I found out.

When we went inside, it was very…empty.

_Because they auctioned off everything after the fire in __1840. _

Ah, stink, it was so creepy when I answered my own questions that weren't even questions. Perhaps Gloria and I shouldn't have watched the 2004 movie of _The Phantom_ during our airplane's flight…

The building all-too- bluntly told the days of its former glory. It was rather large, flamboyant— even flashy—as we came up the steps to enter the building, there were rusty gold letters that read _Le Théâtre de L'Opéra de Paris_. However, inside, there was dust everywhere, and through the thick layers of dust and age, I could see that the few broken chairs that were left were made of wood and had a dark red color of the seats. The stage had cob webs that were the entertainment, still dust that was the performance, and ripped blood-red curtains were the only audience.

"Why are we here? There's nothing left!" a kid from the class hollered.

"Because," said the teacher, "Even though this is abandoned, it still has its care taker."

"Wah?"

The teacher half smiled, and replied "The Opera Ghost is its care taker! No one but that phantom could haunt the halls so successfully, and protect it from trespassers so well. You are all warned!"

Some of the students laughed, some smiled simply to fit in, but Gloria and I kept quiet, and merely exchanged glances, knowing what we knew.

_The phantom was real, and shan't be mocked._

As time passed, Gloria and I, being stupid and unobservant, hypnotized by my obsession, stood there, gawking at the scene, drinking it in.

"Rebecca, you think that trapdoor thingie still works?

"What? You mean the one on the stage that the Phantom and Christine fell through during Past the Point of No Return?"

"Yeah,"

"Well, gee, I don't know. I suppose. I daresay it wouldn't be safe to fall through."

"Of course, Rebecca, how dense do you think I am? Don't answer that."

I merely smirked, "I'm not accusing you of stupidity; I'm simply explaining my hypothesis."

"Whatever,"

We climbed on the stage and didn't see anywhere of what would appear to be a trap door.

"That's weird,"

"Becky, if there's a trapdoor, how could we see it? I mean, _it's a trap door._"

"Oh, good point."

Suddenly, I felt a great burst of wind, and I could unmistakably smell the strong, romantic scent of roses. The ground—or stage, really—seemed to give away; we fell through a trapdoor.


	3. Chapter 3

"Becky, what is this place?"

Dirt roads, peasant people roamed the streets, and, on top of that, we were right in the middle of the road! People stared at us as if we were crazy. The clothing didn't look to be from our time. And the smell! Oh, the smell! An evil had entered my nose! I gagged, as did Gloria. The next woman I saw looked me up and down, as did the rest, and walked on. I ran to her, but she tried to out run me! What did these people see? I wasn't a monster!

"Miss, Miss, where am I? I am lost."

And with a very thick accent, she responded, "Bah, you must be from England. You bloody Brit! Don't mock France, we will have the last laugh!" she sniffed, raised her nose to the sky, tripped, then walked on. I ran back to Gloria.

"Gloria, Gloria, did you hear that? We're in France!"

"No, duh, we're in France. We took the airplane."

"No, no, the woman just called me a bloody Brit. That means we must be, like, two hundred years in the past."

"Or maybe that woman has an unhealthy stereotype against the U.K."

"Well, maybe, but how could you hate the U.K? Anyway, look at the way they're dressed, and look at the way we're dressed."

Gloria glanced round us, seeing all the people wearing sewn rags and layered fabrics, than saw us, dressed in sneakers, tee shirts, and jeans.

"I guess we should buy some clothes from this time so we don't look like fools, eh?"

"What about our money? I don't have any francs! When my money was exchanged, I only received Euros in return!"

We checked our purses simultaneously, simply to feed on our doubt, saw instead of a couple American dollars and some Euros, everything was of francs! However, we were surprised to see our modern technologies still perfectly the same, such as our iPods and cell phones.

"Gloria," I whispered, "What do you think this means?"

"How should I know? I'm no psychic! But how do you think this happened?

"I suppose fate doesn't care for us much."


	4. Chapter 4

We went to a store that sold dresses. People gave us strange looks. Then again, we were the strange ones, here. We tried to make it as quick and average as possible, but we couldn't help it that people stared. I thought the shopkeeper was so high, that she didn't even notice or care what we were wearing.

It was quite a challenge to get those dresses on….even if they were cheap and simple, they seemed very complicated. They were identical, for we didn't want to waste our money on something pretty and unique, since we had no idea what we were getting into. Thus, we bought dresses of a salmon shade with green stripes along the sleeve that covers the wrists, and green buttons going down the middle of the chest. We also bought corsets, for our undergarments were obviously different from this time period, which were frustrating to put on.

We snuck into the back room to get changed as the clerk was helping another customer. The room was dark and smelled of alcohol and spices that were not familiar to me.

"Gee, this reminds me of an opium den."

"Gloria, this more than likely _is _an opium den. But let's try to get over that. Let's put on these corsets…without killing ourselves."

"Um, how?"

"Well, how about you look the other way as I get this thing on, and when I say so, you can help tighten it."

"Okay,"

In the darkness, I saw a vague shade of her figure turn around to look the other way. Like it mattered. It was so dark; I could only see the outline of her form. Whatever. I needed to get that bloody thing on.

"Okay, Gloria, can you help me?"

"Sure," I could hear her quiet footsteps coming closer, and then felt the corset tighten.

"Thanks,"

"My turn. Look the other way, _sil vous_ _plâit."_

I turned, and as she handled her business, I put on my dress. It felt just like any other shirt I would wear, but I could tell it was made of a different material, made a different way, but I couldn't specify in what.

"Okay, Becky, let's get this over with,"

I took the silk ribbons that ties it, and pulled.

"Ack, not that tight! I gotta breathe, woman!"

"Sorry, sorry, my fault,"

I loosened it, and then tied it.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks,"

"No problem,"

"What do we do, now?" Gloria asked, though more to no one then to me.

"I don't know. Let's pack our stuff and walk around. American dollars used to be worth more than francs, so we don't have to worry about food."

We stuffed our normal clothes into our back packs and walked out. This time, no one stared at us. They didn't even notice us. However, I did notice a handful of people glance at our back packs. They probably just thought we were foreigners with unique style. Nothing enough to signify how different we truly were.

As we walked, I saw a large building, and in proud, golden letters above two antique, wooden doors, it read _Le Théâtre de L'Opéra de Paris._ Wow, this was really it. Is this what we were looking for? If not, I still had to go in.

"Gloria,"

"Wah?"

"Look," I pointed an accusing figure at the building.

"Woah, you think if we go in, we could go back to the future?"

"Hey, we won't hurt the past. Why not go to future, again?"

We walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy brown doors. We both gasped. Inside, it was full of life; everything possessed it's own, rich color with many details that added on to its beauty. We saw many seats of expensive wood and red velvet in organized rows. There were balconies, as well. This place must have been able to fill hundreds of people for each performance. The stage seemed empty, but filled with many splendors and memories that it longed to tell us and I wished to know them.


	5. Chapter 5

"All right, Gloria, let's try to find that trapdoor and get out of here!"

"Right-o!"

We went up the few steps to the stage, and I, at least, was completely overwhelmed; it was beautiful, glorious, and all of its own. I couldn't believe that I was actually here. I felt as if I were really somewhere else; as if I were only watching someone else experience this, instead of being here myself. We searched as best as we could for something to be a trapdoor, even though it was silly, for they don't call it a "trapdoor" for nothing.

"Isn't this a bit pointless? I mean, we only stumbled upon it in the first place by accident."

"But we have to try, Gloria, don't be such a bloody pessimist!"

"I'm not pessimistic, I'm only being realistic; first, we went looking for it, didn't find it, and fell through. Would it not be best if we let it, if you will, find us?"

"I suppose so. But come on," I noticed a piano that was hidden in a corner. "Can't we at least have a bit of fun while we're up here?"

She followed my gaze, spied the piano, and nodded. We eagerly ran to the instrument, and sat next to each other.

I placed my hands over the white and black keys, one finger for each key.

"Hey, Gloria, look at how the cool people play the piano,"

I pressed each key with each finger and counted each note as it became higher. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," I sang the numbers in a higher pitch as I pressed higher keys to produce harmonizing sounds.

"Now, watch: One, two, three, four, **EIGHT**!!" It started rather nice, but the unwarned "eight" was, well, disturbing to the ear.

We both laughed as if we heard the funniest joke that was ever told. However, knowing that no one was to be seen, save for us two, I couldn't shake the feeling from my paranoid mind that someone—some people—were laughing. I immediately silenced myself, perturbed by the possibility that someone else was there, knowing us, listening to us, laughing with us, mocking us.

Gloria noticed my sudden change in emotion and did the same. She also realized that I was listening, and I could tell she did the same, for I could see her chocolate colored eyes darting in many directions, trying to interpret what my mind—what I—was hearing.

Silence.

No chuckles, no stifled laughter, no strained giggles.

Nothing.

_How odd._

I eyed Gloria, and gradually became slightly more, though not completely, comfortable with the not-so-empty emptiness. I played a song from Evanescence, called "Missing." Gloria recognized the tune, and asked me to sing to it. I did.

I stopped, event though I'm a pretty hard-core Evanescence fan, I has to stop, for now, I could relate to this song. I was sucked into a different time. Alone, save for Gloria, but still, what was my mother thinking? As a child, I remember she always told me that she would die if I did so if I'm not dead, but now a nothing in a demented world, what would that make of her? Nothing could happen to her. That's not allowed. That's not possible. My mother was strong in her own unique and quiet way. She let the opponent think that that they won, when really, she had conquered, and triumphed, but she didn't believe in correcting those who didn't wish to be corrected. Thus, she always had a quiet, private victory over her trespassers.

Always.

Mom, where are you, now? Are you thinking of me? Do you know that I'm gone, or do you think I'm living it up in France? Or, as a mother, can you somehow know that I'm secretly scared; longing for your hand to stroke my face, telling me everything is all right? I think you may. Mom, I love you, and nothing can prevent me from being your little girl, despite how mature I have become, I'll always love you, and the way you have loved me after all of these years.

_Too bad you're gone…_

"Becky?"

"Oh, yeah?"

"You zoned out, after, like, a little bit of 'Missing'".

I realized I had small tears in the corners of my eyes, and quickly blinked them away before Gloria could notice them. "Oh, sorry, you know me; we're both kinda like that."

"Yeah, it's totally addicting. I love zoning out! Its fun and you can imagine and create anything you want, without anyone bothering you. It's an escape."

"Wow, that's pretty deep, don't you think?"

"Well, it's true."

"I realize that. I'm just saying, this is one of the few times that you cared to explain a deep subject with an equal amount of depth and concern, that's all."

"Ah, well, thanks, I think."

"You're welcome,"

After a silence, I broke it. "Hey, come on, I sang! How about you? How about 'Goodbye is the Saddest Word I'll ever hear?'" I started playing the captivating tune.

She glared at me, perhaps she didn't feel in the mood to sing, we were always in a better mood after singing or dancing.

Then, she stopped. She missed plenty of cues and notes to jump back in on, so I stopped, and stared at the keys, as she appeared to be lost in thought. I swallowed hard, knowing that we were thinking the same thing; we both wondered how the other side of the world was reacting and handling our vanishing. Did they miss us? Did they not care? Were they happy? Oh, I hope they weren't happy…but I also don't want them to be sad, for I would feel somehow guilty for leaving them in such a way.

_I deserve nothing that I receive, and by human greed, I keep it all._

I heard a noise that sounded of whispers that made me straighten my back from a violent shiver.

"Hey, Gloria, if anyone catches us, since we are technically trespassing, shouldn't we have French names?"

"…I guess…"

"Well, come on, we don't wanna be arrested for having something to do with England! The French were at war with England, with what it seems to be, if my approximation is correct, not too long ago."

"Your approximation?"

"Well, yes! If I remember correctly, the movie took place around the 1840's, and at this time, they still weren't too friendly with England."

"Oh,"

"So, what's your name gonna be?"

"Um, yours first."

"Okay…well, I shall now be known as Marie-Ange."

"Right, _Marie-Ange,_ I shall be Renée."

"Fine, it's nice to meet you, _Renée_."

"Same here, _mademoiselle."_

We both lightly chuckled at this foreign way of acknowledging each other, and eventually, the giddiness died, and the laughter ceased.

To shun away the awkward air, I started to play 'Bring Me to Life' by Evanescence, for their songs always lift our moods with their grand talents. I started to Sing Amy's part, just before a Linkin Park member sings along.

Surprisingly, she sang the part.

Then, immediately came to a halt, and began an entirely different song; one of joy and the silliness of childhood. A song called 'All for the Best' that was from a play called GODSPELL.

And thankfully, she replied, quite happily…

I continued to play, and glanced up at Gloria, tap dancing to the music. I was so glad that she was happy. I remember we would always play make-believe as small children, and dance together or watch each other dance for whatever world we saw. We connected, and could usually see the same universe as the other, and we would eventually get so lost in our fields of imagination, and sometimes forget what was real and what was not. We would require someone form the outside real-world to see us, and demand us to leave behind our escape for another time.

I stopped playing, hopped beside her, and tap danced with her. If you have ever seen GODSPELL, there was a routine that Judas and Jesus did while this song was playing. We both have seen this play, and knew all the steps to it, for I suppose we are somewhat that sick in the heads to be able to memorize something like that.

We kept our passionate eyes only on each other, for we knew no one else was watching. However, as we finished, I heard clapping.

"Oh, fruit!"

Oh, shmack!"

We both exclaimed these strange phrases at the same time, now realizing that some men by the name of André and Firmin were watching us the whole time.

"Wonderful, _Mademoiselles! _As soon as we heard singing, we saw you two singing, and later on dancing! _Magnifique!_ Have you ever had any experience with acting or singing on stage?

We were both staring at the strange men for a while, and I finally said that although we can sing and dance and act, we have never done something professionally.

"Ah, well, now you shall! Though not grand parts, you shall have small parts, to see how you handle being in front of an audience, and later on, we shall see!"

"Wait, "I started. "Shouldn't we audition for the parts?"

"_Mademoiselle_, I consider_ that_ an audition!"

"Gee, thank you, _Monsieur_,"

"Ah and how should we call you?"

"_Je m'appelle Marie-Ange Belcher, Monsieur,"_

Gloria seemed frozen; she simply stared at the men.

"_C'est Renée Belcher, Monsieur,"_

"Right, then, you may take an empty room upstairs," they said, and then disappeared.

First, we just turned to face each other, and stared stupidly, wide-eyed, for a few long moments, in awe at what had just happened to us in a mere minute or two; we just became a part of the Opera House's employees.

"Come, Glo--I mean, Renée, let us go up the apples and pears and find an empty room."

Gloria hesitated, but followed obediently.

As we crept down the vast, eerie hallway, I could not help but to think I heard foot steps that neither Gloria nor I possessed. For one reason or another, I also felt abnormally cold, which is strange, for I felt comfortable a few minutes ago.

Still walking, I tried to make sure my steps were silent, so I could discover to whom the echoed pattern of steps belonged.

"Becky," Gloria whispered. "Haven't we heard those names before? André and Firmin?"

"Well, yes, they are French names, and we have been studying French, and also, those were the names of the fellows that owned the Opera House in that movie."

Yeah, well, you can say that I have watched too many cartoons, or saw too many times _The Phantom_, or that I am simply immature and crazy, but I think we were sucked in, when we fell into that trapdoor, a movie universe."

"A movie universe? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you've read plenty of science books that claim that black holes exist, and can spit you out anywhere else, right? And I have read plenty of comics and watched shows that that has happened, so could this be true?"

"Come on, Gloria, this is just a coincidence, I mean, I bet André and Firmin were common names in France back…..now….. And—"

"Yeah, and, why can you accept that we are in a different time period, but not a different universe?"

I pondered this, it dawning on me that Gloria was absolutely right. If I knew we were in the 1800's, somewhere, it could only make even more sense that we were in some sort of 'movie universe'.

"Well, you're right, Gloria, but if this is the Paris Opera House that you and I know of, then where is _he_?"

"_He_?"

Yes, yes, please, get creative with me, _he_."

"Oh, well, gee, if Chri—"

"_Fremez la bouche_! Do not speak her name if we are where we are! Say her and he, and us two alone can know what we speak of.'

"Okay, well, if _she _dumped _him_ for _the fop_, then wouldn't he be all sad and angsty, he may not even be here! He may have, you know, disappeared."

"Well, I guess, but I've been having strange feelings around here,"

"I noticed. And so have I. Let's just get our room and talk there. I feel as if someone is if always behind me."

"Me, too. Let's go."

We quickly walked down the halls, and at the end, we discovered a lonely door, isolated from all others.

"Hey, Becky, with this room, at least no one can hear us talk,"

"Yeah, and we won't hear them talk, either."

"Yeah, and it'll be just for us, us sisters."  
_"Oui,_ sisters and friends."

We both smiled, and opened the door with hope of it being empty, but usable, and fear, for we felt ice running down our backs.


	6. Chapter 6

** Gloria's POV**

**"**Hey, Becky, how long do you think they left this place for history?"

"Seems to be untouched ever since _she_ left." She said, in a hollow tone.

It was incredibly dusty, and it engendered a few loud sneezes from me. As I glared about, seeing two beds, a mirror that took up a whole wall, and a bureau that you could sit at.

"Well, shouldn't we clean up, or something similar to that proposal?"

"Gee, Becky, I really don't feel like it."

"Come on, we both know the maids apparently did a crappy job even without someone in here."

"Ah, well, then, you're right,"

"Of course I am! Now, let us dust."

Instantaneously, she jumped to the bed on the farthest right, underneath a tiny window. She sat on it, and then I saw a giant cloud of dust erupted from where she was.

"Woah, Becky? You okay?"

I heard her sneeze, then reply, "That was smart,"

"Gee," I started, "That didn't too intelligent to me,"

"_Fremez la bouche, ma copaine."_

I stuck my tongue out at her, and then sat on the bed across from her. The next thing I knew, I was surrounded and choking in a gray fog. I heard Rebecca's gentle laughter and unwillingly laughed with her, unable to escape the tight grip of a friend's joy.

"Let's look under the beds, Gloria!"

"Why? There's just gonna be more dust!"

"Well, if someone left something here--"

"They're gone, and this place doesn't seem like anyone would care!"

"Oh, well, fine, but if someone left something, we could keep it!"

"Yay! French souvenirs!"

Rebecca made an odd, twisted expression, and then giggled at the immature joke. She looked under the bed from which she sat, and exclaimed, "Wow, look! Ballet shoes!"

"So what?"

"Well, if there comes a day when someone spies our shoes," She lifted her dress about an inch or so to reveal some black and pink colored sneakers." I believe they would feel quite surprised by this strange footwear."

"Fine, whatever, let's try them on,"

She biffed the ballet shoes at my chest, and my attempt to catch them was unfruitful. I tried them on, and with a shock, they were slightly too small, but I could manage.

"Hey, Gloria, mine are a little tight, but I don't think it'll really hurt us much if anyone sees us. They'll just assume that we're poor."

"I'm fine with that."

"Me, too. How about we look in that closet, and see if there's a rag or something to dust the floor with. Look, we made footsteps that show the floor!"

I looked down, and saw that the dust was like snow; I had made footprints that cleared the gunk and revealed the ground.

I opened the door and gasped for air. It smelt as if something had died in there.

_Maybe something did…_

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rebecca quickly cover her nose with her cat-like reflexes that I have sometimes been quite jealous of. For some reason or another, my good friend, Rebecca, had always possessed the qualities of a cat. I know, and many others have agreed with me. Perhaps were fondness of cats has simply helped her adapt to their ways. I know this sounds bad, to describe your friend to be impeccably cat-like, but it's very, very true. From what she has told me, in bits and pieces, she described her childhood as happy; however, if I were her, I would be a miserable child. Her parents, although caring for her, putting her health before theirs, caused them to die an early death. Rebecca told me she is guilty, for she could have stopped her greed, killed the brat inside of her, and overcome the beast that births from evil, but she didn't. She told me that there was never a day that she doesn't think of how much she hates herself for killing her parents. However, her parents were cat lovers, so, they had a cat. Thus, when her parents died, she took great care of the feline and shunned herself from humans, guilt ridden and awe-struck by death. Therefore, I suppose, in a way, cats technically saved her from being truly crazy or even dead. I'm glad, at least, that she was spared from that fate… After all, my parents adopted her…

"Gloria, don't zone out when you're in the middle of investigating a spooky closet!"

"Wah…? Oh, my bad, Becky, my mind was elsewhere."

"You mean, besides France?"

"Sort of,"

"Ah, well, let's take a peak in there!"

I smiled at her child like enthusiasm for adventure. What a spunky little kitty…

"Cool your top, Kitty- Cat,"

She lifted her head up slightly, her eyes alit, confused by the pet name, but then smiled at the joke.

We poked our heads in the smelly closet, and saw nothing but black.

"Bleh," I gagged. "And I thought skunks were bad!"

Rebecca, somehow now unmoved by the stink, bent down and picked something up.

"What's that?" I eagerly asked.

"It's…a mask?"

"It looks like one used in a masquerade,"

"Yeah, look at all the colorful and zany feathers and beads on it,"

"Yeah,"

We stood there, studying the costume piece, in perfect silence.

It was white, with red beads, and red and white feathers that puffed out in many directions. It had a large crack running down the middle, all the way across it. It looked that if it were to be worn, it would come to life again. All you had to do was hold the thin stick attached to it and wave its magic upon your face… Needless to say, it was drowned in dust.

I gazed briefly at my sister, and saw that she had a blank stare in her eyes, however, her eyes, as always, had an undeniable sparkle. I then scrutinized the mask again. Immediately after I stole my eyes from her, I felt as if she were gazing upon me. However, minutes have gone by, and I was growing uncomfortable, so, I stepped back, and came to see she was not traversing me in any way; she was still perusing the mask.

"Hey, Becky, let's stop being dazzled by that stupid thing, and listen to our iPods, or something."

"Listen to our iPods? No, come on, let's clean this up. There has to be some sort of cleaning supplies, somewhere."

"Fine, whatev—"

"Hey, look here, here's a whole pile of them!"

However, after a while, she simply stay there, slumped over, as if in a trance.

"Becky," I hesitantly muttered.

"Gloria, these aren't rags…."

"Well, come on, woman, what are they, then?" I asked, now growing slightly uneasy.

"They're…they're handkerchiefs!"

"What? Why the fruit are you so concerned about handkerchiefs?"

"Look at the initials,"

C.D

C.D

The initials were C.D. Why should this concern us?

"And look at the bottom of the pile,"

And on a piece of paper, in neat cursive, it read _Christine Daée_.

Christine Daée.

I'm starting to catch on, now…

"Chri-"I started, but then cut off by my friend.

"Do not speak her name,"

"It's _her,"_

_"Yes,"_

"So…this was _her_ room,"

"Perhaps,"

"And that must mean that it's the same mirror."

Rebecca turned her head slowly to the wall with the looking-glass that nearly took up the whole wall.

She nodded. "If this is _her_ room…They could have used this closet as storage."

"Yeah, right. Why is it so dusty? Why is it so creepy? Why is it so cold? Why does it seem to possess a quality that makes me wanna scream? Why do I feel as if I'm always being watched? Did we just obtain a stalker over the time period of an hour and a couple hundred years?"

Rebecca stared at me. Awed. Pale. With sparkly eyes. She was still on her knees by the closet, I, already taller than her, felt as if I were shrinking her with each passing minute with my questions and her already meekness.

"Don't. Yell. At. Me. This isn't my fault, as many other things have been; I'm not willing to say that I am to blame for this strange event. It's not your fault, either. This, I think, was simply a fluke in, well, you could say, the very fabric of the universe."

I looked her up and down, seeing her brows knit tightly, her eyes inflamed, and her side of thinking right.

_"Je suis désolé,"_

"That's okay," She stood. "This is so weird; I'm surprised we haven't accidentally killed ourselves by now."

"Hey, don't jinx it," I laughed.

She didn't laugh back. "Okay,"

"Becky, come on, lighten up! Sure, this is weird, but hey, we're in this together, and nothing can tear us apart, even a creepy place like this. Not even the time you lost your temper. Not even the time I lost mine. Now, if you've seen either of our tempers, you know already that we're friends because we didn't kill each other. Now, come on, not killing each other; that's a true friendship."

She grinned shyly, but giggled as if she were a small child; so filled with glee that I had to laugh, myself.

"Yeah, I guess. Come on; let's explore the closet, again!"

"Sure,"

We both leaned down, and saw darkness, smelt dead, wet skunks that were killed by being smothered in garbage, and felt around for something, though I had a feeling we were merely searching for excitement, now, instead of some old rags. However, eventually, we did not find anything else.

Growing tired, we withdrew from the closet and sat in the land of the gray snow.

"Well, Gloria, I'm not gonna sleep in a dusty room, a dusty bed, where I could suffocate to death from it and die a horrible, dusty death."

"Agreed, but what should we do? I don't wanna sound stupid, but I'm a little scared to go out there and get some rags. I'm afraid that according to some weird, old eight-teen-hundred traditions, what I may do is rude."

"Oh, well, if you're gonna be rude, you might as well be rude with me. Come on."

Then, we wandered down the stairs, and stumbled upon the stage again. We skipped a bit, just enjoying the scene. Then, we spotted some maids with poor looking, tan dresses with bonnets on to keep their hair from dangling in their faces.

"Marie-Ange, my French accent stinks. Can you speak good French?"

"Yeah, just a sec….but hey, we've been speaking English with some easy French words, so, I don't think we should worry about that."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I still don't feel like talking to them."

"Honestly, Gloria, what do you feel like doing?"

"Nothing! That's the thing! I'm not feeling much to anything!"

"You're lazy. Shut up… Ah, _Escumez-moi, madams _but may we be granted the liberty to borrow two of your spare dust rags?"

The old, homely women looked at Becky cautiously, but agreed. "Ah, you two make such a nice couple while singing," one of them looked away, blushing. "We happened to hear you singing…we weren't ease-dropping, honest, we just couldn't help but hear…"

I turned my head and gave a 'what-do-we-say-look', and she nodded slightly, and replied to the women. "_Madam_, you are very kind, you lend us your rags, and you compliment our talents. Thank you._ Merci beacoup._" She then caught my wrist, and walked quickly away from the creepy old people. We arrived back in the room, and just stood there.

"So…let's get started." And I followed Becky's order.

We swept the rags lazily and without care, and thus were finished in a snap. We unmade the beds, and stupidly shook them inside our room, which resulted in a coughing fit, which, after, lead to a laughter fit from our ignorance of causes and effects. However, in spite of the _fact_ that we were the only ones in the room, I could have promised myself that I heard—I _heard_--deep laughter that we did not possess. The laugh sounded innocent enough, but had a maniacal twist, which, although can sometimes be the way we act, nothing as goose-bump-giving as this.

"_Shut up_," whispered I.

She did. And we both listened. We both heard. We both knew we weren't alone. We both heard the dreaded assurance that we were watched and heard. We heard the howling of lunatics; however, not a second longer did we stop, so did the suggestion of the supernatural…or worse….the mere abnormal.

I let my brows form a 'v', and saw Rebecca, very pale, brows raised, her eyes wide. I screamed, she didn't. She automatically covered my mouth with her palm and glared at me. She peered into my eyes, hers always misty blue, but also cold and resembled the eyes of a white husky dog. I grabbed her wrist to give my mouth freedom from her hand, and felt the fast pulse of which belonged to her, a result from adrenaline.

We were both breathing shallowly and rapidly, unsure of what to do. Still looking at me, she nodded her head to the bed, and I, too frightened to speak, my legs weak and Jell-O-like, limped to the bed, and was afraid to look if I caused a dust cloud or not, too afraid to see what Rebecca did next, too frightened to realize that I slept such a dreamless sleep, I was surprised to awake to morning.


	7. Chapter 7

In spite of it being morning, the room was as dark as the night, save for a small spot from the small window that illuminated a small square on the floor. I saw a slim female figure among the shadows, knowing it was Rebecca. I groaned. Morning, bleh. Rebecca, noticing the noise, whispered, "Hey, good morning. It's eight of the clock."

"Man, that's way too early for me. Wake me up in a couple years." I then turned over, only to have familiar hands shake me violently, forcing me from grogginess.

I raised my hand and smacked her arm, but I was then pulled from the bed and dropped on the cold, hard wooden floor.

"Ow, dang-it, why the fruit did you do that?"

"Shut up, there's a note on the door."

I momentarily froze. Note? Didn't Christine get notes…?

"See? Here, it's from the managers."

I skimmed it, its neat cursive I could not read much of it. However, I got the basic idea of it, which was that there was a rehearsal sometime today. Also, we had very small parts in whatever we were doing. I think we might half-speak-half-sing a line in the chorus…the back of the chorus. Ah, well, got to start somewhere, eh?

A few years later, show after show, rehearsal after rehearsal, Becky and I were pretty good, but not the greatest, for sure. We got bigger and bigger parts, but not biggest roles in the plays. But we were good, and we were happy with the adventures we had, exploring the Opera House like the children we were. Er, are.

Then, things became interesting. One night, someone whose name that I don't care about right now, had the leading role, but was missing a major prop for the second scene.

"But Madame, _sil vous plâit,_ we don't have much time. The next scene should be on now. Soon, the audience shall grow impatient," said André.

"I refuse to perform without it,"

"But it's just a prop, we can't find it, you won't be punished, nor will a maid, no one, but _please,_ just go on!"

The little princess crossed her arms and sniffed. What a brat.

"Well," she began, "There will have to be an event to divert their attention elsewhere."

"Where can we do that? Shall we show them a dance solo; let them listen to an instrumental break? But that can only hold them for so _long."_

Give me a break. Just go.

"We'll do it!"

Then, Becky grabbed my wrist and pushed me in front of the red curtains.

The crowd was scary. My legs couldn't move, and I couldn't speak. Crap.

Crap.

Crap.

Crap.

What am I to do? Die on stage? What a nice attention grabber.

Suddenly, I heard the piano playing, although I hoped and prayed all in a second that it wasn't the song I thought it was. It was. It was some modern day country song, of which now escapes me, but now, I'm just glad I didn't soil myself. Phew. However, I do remember the curtains opening and I saw Becky playing the piano, so I backed up to be right next to her, singing as loud as I could, right in her ear. Well, she deserves it, I mean, why would she make me approach the bright, murderous lights all by myself and sing a whole song?

As I heard the song close, I glanced up and saw that some people backstage were still frantically searching for the bloody prop that wasn't that important, anyway.

As the playing stopped, I saw a blonde woman, by the name of Meg Giry, making a hand motion that meant that we still had to stall. Crap. Then, I heard Rebecca sing a beautiful song.

As she sang, I gradually became more comforted by her confidence to sing with me. I don't know how long she sang, or if those air-heads found the bloody prop yet, but I looked over to her, and she was glanced over to me, her eyes wide, her pupils large. She seemed to be gasping for breath, but the piano she played quickly became louder and louder, to loud for me to hear. Then, she slowly drifted off the piano's seat and dropped to her knees, then crashed upon the stage, unmoving, face down.

The music stopped, as did my heart.

I rushed to her side and lifted her head to look at her face to see if she fainted or was still conscious, but simply fell. There was a parlor to her skin that overwhelmed her dark hair. Her eyes were rolled up in her head, and in the silence, I heard no breathing.

Wait…was I even breathing? No, no, it was too mind twisting to think of silly things such as that…but was my dear friend breathing? No. She was not.

"Get help, immediately! She lost consciousness and isn't breathing!" I cried this, looking around desperately.

No one reacted to my screams, to her unresponsive body. They gave me blank stares and sad gawks.

"Help her, help her!"

"How is her heart?"

Someone from the crowd broke, finally!

I checked her pulse. It was slow and unsteady.

"Bad,"

"I'll go get help…go get help…"

The audience started to gasp in choruses.

I felt my eyes water and then could only see a blurry figure of my friend. What was wrong? What had happened? I hoped that I was dreaming, soon to awake from this nightmare.

I set her down gently, and pinched my arm. Ow, pain. I was awake, all right.

Rebecca, please wake up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Next Chapter**

She was gone. I didn't know how, and I didn't know why, but I knew, I knew she was gone. At some times, I would hear whispers, and hope it was her, but alas, it was the wind, my imagination, my hope playing tricks on me.

In the morning, I thought I would wake up to see my friend staring back at me from her side of the room. I merely saw the morose light of morning scorning me for being, well, me. It seemed that everything knew where she was but me. The wind laughed quietly, the halls empty, but ever so haughty. The people, oh the people, they knew something I did not.

I saw a ballet rat skipping down the hall. Her golden, dry hair looked as if she brushed it with a rake and thought it beauty. Hopefully, she was pretty on the inside. Nope.

Her cockiness, her air of arrogance and my missing friend…with all these feelings, I wanted to choke someone, anyone. I grappled her shoulder, instead of her neck, and breathed, "Where's R-R-Marie-Ange?"

Then, it dawned on me that she was just a slutty dancer. Can she even read? Like she would know. I just wanted to vent out my confusion on a person of a lower status lower than I.

The ballerina giggled. SHE GIGGLED. Of all things to do, of all the ways to react, she giggled.

"The Opera Ghost must have her," she snickered. "Opera Ghost… must be him. A similar event happened some years ago to Christine Daée."

"Christine Daée? I know her!"

She stared blankly, and then smirked, "Of course you do, everyone has! Pitiful is the one who doesn't!" she then spasmodically made short, gasping and laughing sounds, which I took as a weird sort of heehaw.

Forget her.

But wait, this is the movie, after all, in this, _he_ does exist. I wondered what would happen if I went back to our dressing room, which may have been Christine's, figure out how the mirror works, and find Becky!

I walked to the end of the hall and espied a door with a window. I saw André and Firmin pacing the room, reading a note with a red skull as the seal. It's probably about Rebecca….just like the movie…uh-oh.

I walked into the room and they froze. "_Mademoiselle_, your friend—isn't here—she's with—an angel—an angel…of destruction." said André.

"Angel, angel my eye. He causes great destruction; he's the devil himself if you ask me. The Phantom has Marie-Ange. I hope that man—that monster—burns in an eternal punishment for all that he has done; kidnap—several!—murder—many!—, robbery, assisted suicide, and this!"

Geese, Firmin is as angry as I. Almost. No, not even close.

"Yes, truly remarkable…disturbingly remarkable…after all this—we thought him dead—_Sacre Bleu, _he is truly a ghost! Pity those who gape upon him and never see life again!"

He's not a ghost; he's a man. A pitiful, strange, and a horribly twisted man was he. With this in mind, I shall challenge myself with the mirror…and whatever adventures may wait for me after.

In the room, I finally took account of the light painted, splintered wooden floor and stone walls. The large, one way mirror cast my reflection staring doggedly back at me. I banged the glass as hard as I could. I kicked, punched, and scratched. It would shake slightly, but not enough to give me satisfaction. I took a vase given to Rebecca one night that had a black rose in it with a black ribbon on it, and biffed it at the looking-glass, engendering it to shatter into a million sharp pieces. Beyond the chunks of reflective glass, I discerned a dark, narrow hallway. As I was half expecting something to jump out and spook me, I hesitantly crept into the blackness.


	9. Chapter 9

**(Rebecca's POV)**

Everything was fine, but I couldn't hear the music I was playing. After what seemed to be long enough, I tried to open my mouth to sing, but in vain. My legs felt as if I had popped put both of my knees, and at the same time, I felt weak all over, and yet I had no feeling whatsoever. It became harder and harder to breathe with each quick and shallow breath I took. Then I started to hope that Gloria would turn to me and do something. I glanced up from the piano that I suppose I was still playing, and didn't see Gloria. I saw black with purple and green spots, and then heard ringing in my ears, not the piano, and felt hot and cold at the same time. I feared the near future and could breathe no more.

When I awoke, I recalled all that had happened last…last…last time I was conscious? Then, the memories flooded my head, drowned me. What would happen today? How long was I out? I hoped I wasn't going to be fired and that I still would get paid, for if I go, then so would my dear, dear friend Gloria, and in this dream that I have so long wished shall crash down upon me, and Gloria would be dragged down with it. I'd rather had a visit paid to Death than hurt Gloria. She's my friend. We clicked since we first met. I could never hurt her, if I had the power to control the cause of harm coming to others. I looked up, a habit of mine that I give in to when in a desperate situation in need of hope, and finally took account of my surroundings. I was not in the dressing room. What I was in seemed to be a cave. The ringing in my ears was replaced with soft, angelic music. My head felt heavy and I still felt weak. I swung my legs in an attempt to place them on the ground so I could try to walk and perhaps not get killed by the specter which I knew was there. However, they hit something hard and wooden, and made a low clunk.

"Ow," I muttered. I sat up to see if the music was disturbed, but it wasn't. I realized I was in a bed that had a similar shape to a bird. I found it quite attractive, and admired the complicated details.

A second time, I swung my legs, this time sure to not hit a part of the bed, and stood up. No matter how many times that I or anyone else could watch the movie, nothing had I ever seen been so real and so beautiful. I didn't really know what to do, but I at least knew enough NOT TO PULL OFF HIS MASK.

I stood up, took a deep, yet quiet breath, and for some reason, I was unable to move quickly, but I managed to shuffle to the middle of the room…er, cave. I was surrounded by candles, and I could see Erik playing the organ, but I kept my distance. I have read stories about people going back in time and falling in love with the phantom, but this isn't a story, so I have no chance of living or escaping, I mean, after all he's been through, he probably just did this to scare someone, perhaps by killing me and putting a note on my dead body, and no one would miss me. Well, except Gloria.

The music became delayed, the tempo's speed fell, and he eventually stopped. He slowly and creepily turned, I saw a part of his snow white mask first, then the normal side of his face in which I saw wild eyes, which made my stomach drop, and gave to me the feeling of wanting to run far, far away—and fast, too.

"Greetings, Rebecca,"

"What? No, no, I am called Marie-Ange, who is this Rebecca?"

"Do not speak falsely to me, innocent child; lying is unhealthy for the soul."

What? You're a bloody stalker, you think _that's_ healthy?

I looked away, but he continued, "Are you jealous of her?"

"Jealous of whom?"

"Your sister, Gloria, or as you would call, Renée."

"What would I be jealous of?"

"The act of knowing the occerences of her being favored? She always sings before you do. Have you ever noticed that? In every performance, she always goes on stage before you do, she always sings before you, and speaks before you."

"So..?" yeah, so? That's a stupid reason to be jealous.

"Well, she is older than you; thus, she has many privileges that you could never obtain. Are you jealous of that?"

Gee, this guy was a crazy little nutcracker. Wow.

"Well, you were always the youngest, and no matter what you change your name to, you can't lie about that."

"How do you know that I've always been younger that those around me?"

He grinned. It gave me a shudder that I couldn't hide and I knew he saw it.

"I know a lot of things,"

Shmack, how many things? I got goose bumps.

"Perhaps too many things?"

He made a deep noise in his throat, which sounded like a contemptuous grunt.

"Sometimes, child, sometimes." His crazed grin never vanished from his face.

I wondered what he would do next; he reminded me of a wild animal toying with its prey. Seriously, what was he going to do? This was too weird for me. I've already spent enough time here, oh, this was the time that I most missed home!

I mean, this was incredible. I would always daydream that I would meet the phantom, but he would be kinder, for his spirit and desire for life would have been killed, and would be so broken down, that I would come to his rescue and we would live happily ever after.

Silly, huh? That's me, for you, a hopeless romantic. This isn't romantic, this is creepy, and how much did I long for a hug from Gloria!

I took a step back, and studied the ground. I didn't want to look at him and his scary smile and those wild eyes.

I wanted to wake up. Wake up. I shall sleep when I am dead, I promise to never dream again, just let me wake up! Four years of my life I have wasted in slumber, in a daze, in a fog. Wake up, stupid, open your eyes! Be blinded by what they behold, and know this _is_ reality, and I was in the freaking pits, at the very bottom.

Suddenly, I saw the ends of his thick, black formal shoes. I then glanced at my old ballet shoes. I looked up and saw the same insane look on his face. And before I knew it he put his rough cold hands on the back of my neck. My eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, fearing what he could do. "Come," said he, as he led me to the organ. Although I continued to stand by the organ, he sat and began to play a soft melody. "Because you see, I face a similar situation." He said, not taking his eyes off the keys and yet not taking apathy out of them. "… at a very young age, my brother and I… were in a fire. Our house burnt down. My brother and I were trapped in the fierce blaze. We both were changed… but he was the lucky one." I took in the detail of his face, his eyes glazed over in reminisces and his hand shot up covering his mask. He was breathing heavily, as if he ran a great distance, and glared at me. Thence, slowly lowered his hand and returned to play, still glaring at me. Eventually he stopped staring, and continued his tale. "As we were going down the stairs, it collapsed, and we fell into the fire. I, face first, but a rope holding a plant snapped, and wrapped around my ankle…my brother, on a step that didn't catch fire yet, could only stare…the rope, I swung from it, and clung to the wall that had the railing… I grabbed my brother, for where I was standing I fell through first—I grabbed my brother's hand, but the rope fell from my ankle, caught fire, and slapped across his back and chest… I swung his weight out the window above the railing that I clung to… then I jumped out… mother never came out--" he gasped as he whispered this, "He was the lucky one…" his fingertips lightly brushed his snow white mask. "He was the lucky one…" both of his hands turned into fists and the music stopped. "I was unfortunate!" his fist began to shake furiously. I took a step back fearing the worst, but he, in one swift motion stood up and seized my shoulders, shook me, and yelled "And have you ever the chance to gape upon my brother, you would see his perfect, handsome face… we're twins!—So you could see—you could look upon him, then back at me and say 'That is what you should look like! That is how misshapen, how mistaken—that is how ugly—you are!'" He squeezed tighter and tighter, to the point that I lost feeling in my arms and part of my chest, and his eyes were freakishly wide with rage. I wrapped my hands around his to get him to let me go.

Realizing that, he loosened his grip slightly and stared at me. He was peering into my face. I stared back, in awe, and we both stood there, staring at each other for a long while, and he let me go.

Gloria's POV

As I walked down the dark hallways, I used my iPod as a flashlight, for its light could illuminate a good section of the hallway. My mind was buzzing on how I could possibly get Kitty-Cat back. I could feel my heart pounding with each step I took. My breaths came out quick and swift and my legs felt like Jell-O.

As of what seemed like forever, I began to see what looked like an underground lake.

_Well, you don't see that everyday. _I thought to myself, looking into the icky brown water. But strangely, I could still my reflection. My once dark chocolate eyes were red and puffy after all the crying that I have done with dark circles around them that made it seem that they were sinking inward, my skin became pale from refusing to come out of my room, and my hair lost its shine.

I placed my iPod on the ground gently, getting ready to dive into the water, even though it was really gross looking.

Suddenly, I felt a great jerk on my arm that prevented me from being swallowed by the blackish liquid.

"My child, don't do such a foolish thing as this. Don't you know that _he _already knows that you are here? That would be meaningless and stupid on your part."

"M-Madame Giry?" wow, I didn't even know that this woman was still living.

"Yes, it is I; I am here to prevent you from making a regretful decision in your life. If you are wise you will follow me."

I obeyed her command, somewhat afraid that she could read minds or tell the future, for she reminded all too much of a witch.

Stupid me, I didn't realize until later that I forgot the iPod…


	10. Chapter 10

Ever since I was pulled away from that chance at getting Becky back, I began hearing her voice, and saw her everywhere I went. The first time I saw her, I thought she had miraculously escaped the Phantom. I talked to her and ran to hug her, but she felt cold, and the coldness brought me pain, and she quickly faded into the atmosphere.

I never knew if what I saw, heard, or felt was even real. Eventually, the mirror that I had broken in the dressing room was fixed again…but no one admitted to fixing it, for example.

After about a week, I had realized that I lost my sanity; thus, I didn't pay attention to anything I saw, heard, or felt. I just stayed in my room, or played the piano on the stage. One night, I sang a rock song about not being able to let go of those who had passed away, and I was growing weak from ignoring the voices in my head; it took all of my will power not to kill myself, and I didn't, for I knew Rebecca wouldn't want me to commit suicide, but what was left for me to live with?

A deep voice told me to sing that song again, and as I sang, I heard Rebecca singing with me. My own mind-torture was consuming me, and I couldn't stand it anymore, so in the middle of the song, I slammed my arms on the keys and shouted "Stop!"

All was silent again, and I was there, shaking, whimpering, and crying. I then heard Rebecca's voice, and it sounded so sweet, so innocent… so pained, so sad…

"Oh, Gloria, I'm here, now."

"Shut up,"

"After all this… and you say 'shut up?'"

"How about 'go away?'"

The figure of my imagination then hugged me, but unlike the previous incident, she felt warm, and the affection true, not mocking.

I felt a giant lump in my throat, preventing me to speak, and I hugged the figure back. Through my tears, I saw Rebecca holding me, her head on my shoulder.

"R…Rebecca?"

"Gloria!"

I wept hard, and although I didn't see any tears fall from her eyes, she made choking noises, as if trying as hard as she could not to sob.

Then, she became silent, and simply hugged me. I did the same, so immeasurably grateful for the miracle of my friend living, being with me.

I sat back, drinking in the appearance of my friend, and saw that she had grown paler than she usually was, thinner (and not in a healthy way), and had dark, purple and brown circles underneath her eyes. What has she been through? The same as I, perhaps? I could tell that she hadn't eaten nor slept, similar to my being. I noticed that as I was staring with delight at my real friend, she kept glancing nervously to her left. I decided to glance at what she may have been seeing, and saw two dark, tall, slumping forms among the shadows behind the curtains.

She sniffed, "Thank you,"

"Becky, who are you talking to?"

I looked back at her, then the direction in which I saw the forms, and discovered that they were gone. I eyed my friend, and she gave me such a pitiful look, that I just held her hands in mine and said to the shadows "Thank you," and happily led her to our dressing room, where I slept, but before I closed my eyes, Rebecca was sitting up in her bed, her blue eyes alert, and shifting all around the room. She seemed to be listening for something…

For a while after that, Rebecca acted strangely. She would avoid dark places, rooms where no one else was, and she, from what I gathered, would be awake when I began to sleep, and awake before I had awakened, which made me think she didn't sleep, either. Also, her appetite changed, for she ate much less than what she used to. It seemed as if she was slowly withering away. Not my Becky, no-how. I wouldn't let her wither away from me right when I was reunited with her. However, she seemed distant, and whenever I wanted to talk to her, she would speak in riddles, and would run off somewhere, or act as if she didn't hear me and speak of something else….like more riddles. Something was up, and I had to find out, somehow…

Becky's POV

For some reason, surfacing through my companionship with Gloria, Erik's words had haunted me.

_She has many privileges that you could never obtain. Are you jealous of that?_

More and more frequently, I found myself envious and having child-like thoughts towards her. She got accepted back into acting at the Opera House. Were her parts longer than mine? How unfair. Did that man over there cast a curious eye upon her? Not me? Why was she prettier than I? She is older than I…I could never obtain the privileges she has…

I also became annoyed from everything she did. From that genuine smile to her knack for getting what she wanted from her bubbly, lovable personality, I hated her for it. I never felt actual hate toward anyone before. I was wondering if I were somehow under a spell that the devil had set upon me, or if I truly acquired a disdain for my friend.

Things started to return to a similar version of 'normal.' By that, I have the intention of explaining that I always felt watched, I was constantly in fear of something happening that involved my being taken down the cellars of the Opera House. I had bruises from where Erik took a bit of his frightening temper on my shoulders. I was always listening and taking care in noticing all of my surroundings, I was too frightened to sleep, and I was so 'out of it', that I didn't feel hungry. When I did feel hungry, I was to overwhelmed with hatred, spite, and fear to eat very much.


	11. Chapter 11

One day, though, only sparked further puzzlement and paranoia, I was doing what I had taken to favor, lately—staring into space—in my bed, on my side of the room. I was on my back, looking at the ceiling, tracing its cracks and holes with my eyes. But, as I stare, as everyone does, I would think. Sometimes of everything, sometimes of nothing. I tended to think of Erik a lot, and his—darned if I wasn't affected—bleeding affects on me and how those affects affected Gloria. I know she did. I even knew that they had to quickly fix the mirror that Gloria shattered in order to return me to her. I gathered how she was worried about me…even vexed with me that I was acting out of my norm. Regardless, that's the thing about Erik, I suppose: no matter what he did, he always caused a ripple-effect; everything he did, had an effect on what or who he had effected, than more and more people would be affected and so on and so forth. Just like the movie. Just like the book. Just like I thought. My thoughts were then interrupted by a voice. An unidentifiable voice. But I knew who it was. I didn't want know Erik's unforgettable voice, I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget this happened, and I wanted to forget my 'past life' I the future and, as how would I say, the _boring, reality universe,_ not the movie universe. I longed for boring. I longed for Reality--_sanity, for my sake!—_not this bleeding _psycho_ house!

"_L'Enfant de moi,"_ he began. "I summon you to conclude matters of mine."

_Darn that devil! He treats me as if I were his bloody dog and he, my master! _Condemn me the day I call him even 'sir'!

"Yes, Erik?" It just occurred to me that even through our _congregation_, I haven't called him by his Christian name. Or the name he called himself. Whichever. There was an awkward, impatient pause, when he finally broke out dryly, almost smugly, "Come to me, _l'enfant de moi!" What? Child of mine? Like the Guns n' Roses song? _

The room seemed to darken, and I sat up in vigilance. There seemed to be a fog stretching across the room, engulfing me in it's mist. I turned, knowing this….this _magic_ was coming from Erik, who was of course behind the mirror. It slid open; revealing a ghost, head to toe in black, save for his face, a white blur amongst the fog. I felt cold all over, but my head and face felt hot and heavy. "_Arriver, l'enfant de moi!"_

I tried to twitch my hand, but it was so cold and clammy, not wanting to take the sensation as my own, I could only shudder. "_Arriver!" _Frightened by the burst of anger, and of the past, I jumped to my feet, weak from dread, and tried to steady my pace to the black blob with the white blur in the fog, in the darkening scene, in the appalling looking-glass.


	12. Chapter 12

He didn't have a creepy smile, which was better than I thought. He sort of had a scowl on his face; he looked similar to a statue, for his facial expression was unmoving even as he spoke. "How do you know that name?"

I blinked, not really understanding what he was asking. "Um, Erik?"

He grimaced, his face twisting from the blurry statue-like façade. "Yes, yes, _that_ name. How do you know it?"

"That's _your _name. How can I not know it?" I then felt as if a baseball was thrown at my head from behind. I suddenly and foolishly remembered too late that no one in the 2004 movie called Erik, well….'Erik'…I also knew that I could be in deep trouble if he took my knowing his name the wrong way….

He quickly raised his eyebrow(as I could only see one part of his face), I'd say almost in confusion, but it was so fast, it may have been my nervous and scrambled mind creating its own images, for then I saw his brow then slanted and his face serious. He seized my hand and walked so fast down the black hall that I had to run to keep and still be at the rear. I glanced behind and witnessed the mirror closing on its own! He stopped after we passed various halls, turns, and stair cases. He spoke softly, as if someone were ease dropping on us. "Look, _Rebecca,_ I never told _anyone_ my name. How do _you_ know it?"

I froze. I could only stare at his tense, stony features and not care that he was squeezing my hand tighter and tighter…

"How…do…you…know?" he hissed through gritted teeth, his cold features grew hot with anger and frustration.

I couldn't answer him. What was I supposed to say? _Oh, see, I watched this magic box where pictures move called a TV…and a few years after your real universe death, some guy in the normal universe wrote a book about the real universe phantom, and he knew your name._

_Yeah…_

"_Answer me…"_ His breath was growing shaky. I thought I was not going to live any longer. I could almost feel his hands tightening round my throat…

"I—I—I know your name! There was a paper a while ago that you murdered a violinist. The name escapes me, but you killed a man."

He formed a creepy smile. Oh, no.

"Ah, but dearie, the paper didn't know my name."

He placed his fingers on my chin, squeezing it slightly.

_Just a tad bit closer to my throat…_

I was running out of options.

"An angel named Christine Daée came to me in a dream and told me your name. Christine as a human never knew your name, but when angels go to heaven, a peace comes over them, and they are wise, and they possess the knowledge of everything, including your name, and in that dream, she told me."

It was the most ridiculous excuse that ever could have been imagined, and as a religious person, I immediately regretted lying about heaven and angels. I was a horrible liar already, for a blushed like crazy whenever I lied. However, Erik looked thoughtful, almost as if considering the poor explanation.

"Chri…Christine told you…my name?" He made choking noises, as if he were…no….no…that's crazy…he wouldn't…

He let go of my chin, and turned from me.

"Yes, she also sends you her…love and care. She remembers you and forgives you for…" I let my voice trail away. I've lied too much already. I've sinned too much already…

There was an ill at ease silence that separated us. I was now embarrassed that I just lied to someone—especially someone that has the ability to kill—and I could only imagine how he felt at the mention of Christine…I bet even her name still brings him pain. I was so sorry. I was…am…so stupid. Why would my life be saved in order to sacrifice the truth? I'll die anyway…eventually…

Not knowing what to do, I stepped away. I gave him space.

_Enough space that he wouldn't be able to do anything to me…_

And I took another. And another. And another. I was on the other side of the dark corridor. Then another—

"_Wait!_ You come back to me _right_ _now!_ _Come!"_

I wasn't a dog….

"_Now_!"

I jumped, scooted until I was behind him, and waited for anything.

He still was turned from me, but I reckoned he could hear my footsteps, perhaps even my breathing…my heartbeat…my thoughts…

Wanting to be on the crazy's good side, I placed my hand on his, which was carelessly hanging at his side, and made up something that could earn me some form of liberation or something that didn't involve pain. What an idiot I was…am…no matter how much I think of death, and welcome it, I still have the animalistic need to live…

"Look, _Erik,_ I—I can…_can't_ imagine the pain you felt when Christine…_chose a different path_…"

Lie.

"And that you chose to let her go, you did the right thing, and I can not have empathy for what I didn't experience,"

Lie.

"And that some vain rich boy swept her off her feet, I am sorry for what has come by in _your_ path…and there's nothing anyone can say or do to make it more livable, I am sorry…But why did you summon me here, in the first place?"

Truth.

I could so imagine his pain... Heck, I don't need to imagine, I just have to remember…which I'm not fond of doing. Then again, my family didn't leave willingly…

And that's the truth. Part of it, anyway.

After I gave my little speech, he faced me, studying me in a way I was not comfortable with. It was if those brilliant blue eyes of his could see right though my clothes, my heart, my thoughts, my impure soul…everything. Maybe instead of lying, he really did think I was truthin'.

Doubt it. Stupid people can even tell when I lie. What's different with a _genius?_

His slouched, tall form remained still, his face in a curious, inquisitive expression, his eyes, unblinking. Eventually, grudgingly, he spoke, his voice dry, but mesmerizing.

"Well…I ordered you down here originally to explain to me…" He pulled something out of the depths of his cloak. It was square, shiny, and it had a screen that glowed bright in the black cellars.

_It was an iPod…_

And not just any iPod…

_It was Gloria's…_

I never thought I would be so happy to see a material possession in my life. Not happy like this. Then, I was overcome with grief. How could he have gotten a hold of her _iPod?_ I know she went down here to retrieve me, but she never mentioned anything about missing her iPod…though why would she? But why would he have it? He doesn't really have a use for it…unless…

"Oh, my gosh, what did you do to her?"

"With whom? Gloria? She doesn't interest _me…_" He shifted his gaze round the black containment, as if _acknowledging _someone. His bright blue eyes returned to me. "But _this_ does. I wanted you to explain to me, since I know you have a device as this, what_ is_ it?"

"An iPod," I blurted.

"An _iPod?_ How strange. I was experimenting with this, and I learned that it's almost like a communication device…it plays this racket…these noises were coming from _these,"_ He pointed to the ear buds. "And when I thought I was going to die from the evil, I pulled them out easily. However, when placed back in, they carry the racket-noise again."

"Well, it's….let's say it's an invention before_ this_ time."

"Dearie, I believe the saying goes 'before _it's_ time', hmm?"

"Um, yes, well….if you say so."

"I do. What is the purpose of the racket-noise? Look," he pressed the button center of the small machine, and it played something by Avril Lavigne.

"Hey, that's not racket, that's music."

"What? This pollution to the ears is _music_? It gives me a headache! It would surely rot any sane person's mind."

I gave him an odd look, feeling that he wasn't really sane. Then, I remembered that I left my iPod in a pocket in my dress, I was listening to it before I started thinking and staring at the cracked ceiling. I pulled it out and said, "Here, on my iPod, there's real music. Listen." I put on some opera sung by Sarah Brightman, Cecilia Bartoli, Rebecca Evans, Charlotte Church, and other women that had operatic talents. I made sure to never play any _Phantom_ songs or Emmy Rossum.

"Hmmm," he seemed to be judging them. "They are not by any measurement, like Christine, and they tend to sound like ducks in distress, but they can serve a purpose. It's better than whatever is one this…_iPod._" He held Gloria's to show that he wasn't fond of punk-pop music. Then again, he never heard that music before, so I suppose it was quite foreign and in bad taste to him.

"Well, despite the owner's interests in music, this is an intriguing device. I never saw anything like it. You didn't invent this. Who did?"

I had no idea who started Apple or the whole Mac or iPod thing, so I just blurted out a stupid name that sounded as if it could slide with a sliver of sincerity.

"Um, Daniel Applebottoms created it, Erik."

"What kind of bloody name is that? Applebottoms? The poor devil."

Erik believed me! No lie, this time! I giggled foolishly at his seriousness and sympathy for a poor non-existent soul that had the last name, Applebottoms. He noticed my enjoyment out of his light-hearted-earnestness, if there were such a thing. But then again, this was Erik. Oxymorons were no longer oxymorons. They were…they were all Erik.

Erik stepped back from me when he realized I was laughing. I immediately stopped, not knowing if showing emotion was wrong in this time period with someone of the opposite sex. Heck, how should I know? If anyone else knew that I was here alone with Erik, people would think lowly of me, and assume I was a street walker. Anything is possible, even after years of time in this time.

He was watching me, almost like observing an animal at a zoo. "Why did you stop?"

Surprised by the blunt and strange question. "Well, when you stepped away from me, I assumed I did something wrong." I felt my cheeks flush a bit, I felt as if I were but a small child again, defending myself against breaking a rule in school, not wanting time-out or having to go to bed early.

He gave one of the most outlandish stares I have ever received in all of my days of life. Then, he weakly smiled. "No, laughing is not a sin. What a guilty conscience you have! What could a child as you do to think the world is going to condemn you for each action you commit to?"

I became idled all over. My cheeks were bound to be ruby red. I knew what I did. He didn't, but I knew that he had to have suspected something; how could anyone ignore my radiant, tomato-like cheeks?

I couldn't talk! Oh gosh, of course he knew something was wrong by now! Talk, darn you, force yourself to have word-vomit! Talk. Talk!

His smile transformed into a frown. "And you're thinking that you're not going to tell me, aren't you?"

I quickly nodded, barely. Like I was going to tell him. He'd probably make me his partner in crime!

"Well, if that is the case, then I keep these." He held the iPods to briefly display them to me, and then tucked them into the nowhere of his cloak. "And I'll also find out on my own."

Nugh-ugh. I refused to let him know. How could he ever find that out? I never told a soul, no soul except Gloria. And she wouldn't tell. We never talked about it when we came here. How could he discover what was so long buried?

_Then again, this was Erik…_

I shrugged. "All right."

He smirked, "Don't doubt me, child of mine, I can do it, trust me, don't you worry, child _that is_ _mine._ You don't think I will, do you?" He chuckled, "Of course I will. Have neither a fear nor a qualm in your mind about that. I will."

Strangely and amazingly, his grin boasted brilliant white teeth. I suppose the movie universe—and Hollywood—likes things that way.

"In the mean time, though, I suppose now that I have what I wanted, you may return to your room."


	13. Chapter 13

In my room, I thought of what a strange mood swing that was. This was unbelievable. First, he would amaze and dazzle me, then frighten me, then say, 'oh, you can go back to your room now. No harm no foul.' What the heck did I get into from the stroke of odd luck I made four years ago? At fourteen, I fell in a trapdoor, leading me to another universe. Four years later, I was talking to one of the characters! Heck, I think I _am_ one of the characters, even now!

A character in a world where characters are characters, personalities, ghosts, animals, but never people. See, a person is someone in reality universe; a character is someone in this universe and perhaps others. This intrigues me, now. I wonder how the trapdoor even affected our way to this movie. Are there other portals scattered across the reality world, or perhaps, the other dimensions that are out there? They other movies? Was there a different dimension in the universe that was made of each different movie? That's a freakin' lot of worlds that never meet. Then again, if the never meet, they don't take up any space...technically…

My brain melted.

If I said reality universe, I stand corrected; to them, this is reality. To me, it's a movie….universe…which is now a reality.

My brain evaporated from the mush it melted to.

I should really stop thinking for once.

I promised myself from then on to think no longer, but to only do.

Then, my not-thinking was interrupted by Gloria, not bothering to knock, of course, entering the room. "Becky," said she, in an almost hesitant tone. "Can I borrow your iPod?"

This made me think. So much for the promise I had made. I kicked around various decisions in my head, whether or not I should tell her, as she would be worried and protective, not tell her, and she would ask questions, then get worried and protective, or ignore her, and that would spark the same feelings as the previous choices.

"Ah, well, why?" I knew why. I wanted to see if she would tell me.

"Oh, well, you have different music on yours. I'd just like to have some variety, that's all. Come on, Becky, you can trust me."

Liar. She was just as bad as I!

"And what if I'm not in the mood to surrender my iPod to your borrowing?"

Her expression changed from serenity to shock that I refused.

"Come on, Becky! Why not?"

"Why not listen to your own bloody iPod? Why do you need mine? The only difference between our iPods is that I have some music on there _that you don't like._ The rest is basically the same, though I am missing the songs that you have that I don't like."

She didn't seem to comprehend my words. "Why not?"

_What? Listen to me!_ "I'm not going to let you borrow my iPod. That's that. Why's it so important that you borrow mine? You have your own. Go listen to yours! Crap, you act as if you _don't have it at all._"

She realized something, then. What a little deceitful, conniving little beast I was…

She looked away, talking to the floor. "I don't have my iPod. I lost it, I think."

_Lost it? How could you lose it in the cellars?_ I knew she looked for me, but how could she have left her iPod down there? Why would she need music down there, it was so eerie that even the calmest of people became paranoid and needed some light and reassurance that they _were_ alone.

But wait. She could have used the _iPod _as her light! Why else would it be down there? I doubted that Erik went out of his way to steal something that he didn't even know how to operate. I also doubted that he captured her as I was. I would have had to be pretty darn ignorant of my surroundings to not have realized that she wasn't there….or in such a surreal haze that I dreamed her presence.

I chose to challenge my theory. "You lost it _in the cellars._"

Her eyes leaped up to me, her mouth opened and closed like a fish being dragged out of the water and into the unwelcoming air. When she finally got a hold on her motor skills, she hissed "How'd you know that?"

"A little ghosty told me."

Her mouth dropped to the floor. Her eyes bulged, threatening to jump out of her skull. "_Erik _freakin' told you about my iPod and my going down there and all? How did he know? I didn't see—"

"He has your iPod, Gloria. And mine. You lost it, he found it. And mine. We are iPod-less…unless—"

"Unless what?...oh, my gosh, Rebecca, did he ask you to…?"

What was she talking about?

Oh.

"Gloria, no, no! He didn't ask me _that._ That's sick. That's wrong. That's—"

"That's Erik."

_True._

"Well, anyway, he asked me…hey, sit on the bed with me, then I'll tell you."

She hopped form her spot to the bed, and I whispered in her ear what he wanted. Her brows knitted, her eyes darkened "Rebecca, you _didn't_ do anything wrong. I know what you're talking about. You needn't be direct with me. I _know_ what you did, and I _know_ you did _nothing_ wrong. It was only natural. They had it coming. It was beyond you control—"

"It wasn't! It wasn't! I could have—"

"_Could have._ You were so young, you didn't know any better. Seriously. If you were wise enough, or had the knowledge, I'm sure you wouldn't blame yourself because _you_ would have _cared _for them. Not the other way around. Though I'm glad it was, for you're here, with me."

I wanted to stand and tell her to leave, heck, if I had one, I would have thrown a freaking scooter at her, just for her to shut up. I wanted to cry. I wanted to collapse and die. She was so kind to me, but I was so annoyed with her being kind. What was wrong with me? I didn't like it when Erik mistreated me. I didn't like it when Gloria practically spoiled me. I didn't like being ignored. I didn't like Erik or Gloria paying attention to me.

_What was wrong with me?_

Instead, I sat there, my face reddening with fury. I hated my sister and friend. She was all I had in this demented universe-thing. I hated and feared the man I once dreamed of meeting and befriending. I was angry that I didn't know what to do with my feelings, with myself. I was embarrassed that I was acting like such a coward and an insolent jerk for not accepting anything that I was offered. I became the very qualities I despised.

I also hated that I blushed too much. I hated that I could feel myself blush.

My hate of myself and animosity was halted by Gloria's voice. "So he technically blackmailed you."

What a smart woman! I never thought of it that way. But what did it matter?

"So? He's a bloody ghost. He can do whatever he wants."

"Yeah, but you don't have to confirm and abide by his rules and his blackmail. "

"But our iPods—"

"I think it's ridiculous that you won't tell him in exchange for our iPods, but we'll get them back. How can he find out? You actually didn't do anything wrong, so there's nothing to tell, so he'd have to give you the iPods back"

"But how can he if he doesn't play by his own rules?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I don't know."

_Then again, this was Erik_


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm going to tell him what happened."

"But there's nothing to tell if you did nothing."

"I'm going to tell him my side of what happened."

"Your side is stupid. I'm sorry, but it is. You're like the little girl in church that's all like 'I took a cookie from my mummy's cookie tray without asking, and now I'm going to pay for my sins!' Come on, Rebecca, you over analyze too much, you think too much, and you dwell too much on your past that wasn't your fault and isn't that big of a deal. I mean, sure, it was big, but it wasn't your fault. I don't fell like saying that anymore. You're just gonna believe me and obey me!"

I chuckled nervously, realizing she was right, and that I should forgive myself, but I still say it's my fault, but I suppose I should be willing to forgive myself. "Thanks. But that's a little dramatic. 'Obey me!' Jeepers creepers, you make it sound like you're a puppet master and I'm your little minion. Even though I'm shorter than you, doesn't mean you have the right to make me a minion!" I tried to joke to ease my mixed up feelings that I didn't know the names to, and found it pointless to joke. "But, seriously, I'm going to tell him what I did, OK, not really my side, but what happened and how I feel about it, and I shall ask him about the trap door on the stage."

"Why would you ask him that?"

"Well, that's what we fell through in the beginning, so maybe since he knows where it is, and saying that he even shows us, we could fall through, and be _back to the future and our own universe!"_

Her eyes lit. "Really? How come you never thought of that like, four years ago?"

"Why didn't you?"

"You're the smart one. I make you think and then I feed off it."

"Gee, I feel important. I must think for the both of us."

"Gee, you must feel important. Congratulations."

"Um, thanks."

That night, I felt as if a giant weight was lifted, the air was merrier, and this world, though still just as confusing, instead of infuriating, simply fascinating and welcoming. I forgave myself, and I felt great. Thoughts of regret would occasionally sneak up on me of guilt, but I would immediately block them from my mind before true damage of my mental state could be done.

It was after rehearsal, and I went to my room. I was trying how to figure out how to open the mirror, as I did not want to break it as Gloria once did. I was judging the seam between the wall and the mirror, as it was too small to be a crevice, and it really was a seam, not a crack nor a split of some sort in the bricks or wood, but a seam that matched the mirror and wall perfectly.

I traced the seam with my fingertips, wondering how smart and insane Erik must have been to create everything, including the mirror and how it opened and closed by itself. As I was touching it, it moved, opening. Startling me, I jumped back. "E—Erik?"

Nothing.

"Erik?"

Darkness.

Did I just unwittingly crack the code of operating the mirror?

Just then, Gloria burst in. She stared at the sight, the dark, endless corridor, and me. "Oh my gosh. Rebecca, was _he_ here?"

"I don't think so. I think I figured out the mirror.

"And you let me break it last time? Where you going? Can I come? If you're meeting up with Erik, I think I should come."

Without my response, she started down the hall, dragging me along as I could only stare at the mirror closing on its own, knowing that I could not have done that.

Feeling around the dark, we tried to stick together. We talked of nothing, just keeping conversation going to merely comfort our shakiness and fright and excitement of the exploit. However, talking of nothing creates problems in conversation and can grow difficult, and after a long, uncomfortable silence, I decided to chat a bit more, growing suspicious form the stillness of the obscurity. "Hey, Gloria, you think next time we decide to get killed in the dark, we should bring candles?"

She kept quiet. Was she scared? "Gloria, come on, yes or no question."

Silence or worry question.

I brought myself to a standstill, and turned to face her, though feeling silly, for she could very well not have been facing me, as I could only see as if I had my eyes closed. "Come on, Gloria, you can't _possibly_ be that petrified to the point you can't talk back to me."

Nothing.

"Gloria?" I reached out in front of myself, punching the air, swinging opening and closing palms, trying to see if I could fell her in the dark. I took countless steps forward and backward, and could detect her nowhere.

"Uh-oh." I ran forward, to where Erik took me the other day to make the deal with me about the iPods. _What could he have done to Gloria?_

**Gloria's POV**

"Hmmmm-mmmm-mph!" As I slowed to be behind Rebecca, I felt warm hands clasp my mouth and prevent my hands from moving. Struggling, I could only spit muffled threats and cried for help. "_Stop, I won't harm you."_

The voice was dreamy, like Erik's, but somehow different. If it was Erik, but changing his voice somehow, he was different than what I expected; his hands were warm, firstly, as I would think they would be ice cold. His voice seemed warm and concerned, not very phantom-y at all. Also, though I was glad it didn't happen again, he preyed on me, not Rebecca.

I stopped stirring, hoping he would let me go and give me some information. He didn't. "I'm going to take you somewhere wither we can talk like mature, civilized beings, not enemies and kidnappers and victims.

Gulp. _Kidnap?_


	15. Chapter 15

He took me down so many access strips that as I tried to remember the directions to go back, I could not. Too many drops and turns and stairs and rats to remember what was what and which was which and where was where.

We eventually came to a room that was filled with light, candles everywhere, white paint on the walls, and there were small square mirrors everywhere. The floor was marble, and it was so sparkly and clear that I could see my reflection just as clear as I could with the mirrors on the walls. In the center of the large room, there was an antique-looking couch, its seats made of white and it had a cherry wood frame. There was a table next to the couch, it was cherry wood as well, and it had an antique china tea set sitting on it. I could only guess that tea was in it.

Confused, for I would have expected everything to be black and to have no mirrors at all. I glanced back at Erik, only to find him _without a mask._

I gasped.

He was abnormally handsome. He—I hate to say it—was _hot._ _His face was not deformed. He had a buff build. He was not deformed. He was not deformed. He was not deformed. Why wasn't he deformed?_

"E—Erik?"

"He smiled _warmly, _then _merrily chuckled._ "Ah, I am not Erik, though I look somewhat like him, do I not? Do you not see the resemblance? It is slight, but it is true." His speech was like song. His smile flashed my eyes with pearly teeth and welcoming eyes. _Who was this guy?_

"Ah, Gloria, do you not even guess?"

What? I gawked.

He studied me, smiling warmly with warm eyes. "Ah, forgive me, Gloria, as I know you, but you seem to be unfamiliar with me."

_He knew me?_

"My name is Charles. He took my hand in his, kissed it inoffensively, and continued, "I am the brother of Erik. I have come to realize that you know him. Now you know me." He stepped back, releasing my hand. "Let us sit, and I may answer questions that you have." When I sat, he offered me tea, though I accepted, as I learned that you should always accept gifts and gestures, I feared that it was some sort of drug, so I didn't take even take a sip.

"It must be strange," he began, "for you to be in this. Whatever we do, it must affect everyone, I suppose it is an unwritten rule of being a phantom of the sort. Of course, I wouldn't want you to be negatively affected, Gloria, but as I have come to know you, you've come to grow on me in a positive way." He chuckled. He must have noticed my worried eyes. "Don't worry, dear, I don't have anything in mind." He sipped his tea. "I'm just saying I have come to know you as a fine, kind-hearted girl, that's all." He smiled, adding, "Nothing more."

I had officially gone nuts. Bonkers. Bazerk. Off my rocker. Out of my head. Cracked up. Screwed up. All the above. Erik didn't have a brother. That would make a stupid story for the movie. That's stupid, for Erik to have a bother. Perhaps it was trickery of Erik. Maybe he created a mask that made him look like everyone else. It had to be that. I mean, _Erik didn't have a brother._

"Why don't you have a mask?" I spoke without thinking. I thought about that, the question burning my brain, but I would never have thought of speaking it.

He straightened, frowned, and said, "Another question."

"Why are you here?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Why are we here? Why'd you kidnap me just so we can talk?"

He smiled strangely, though not threateningly, and looked away. "Ah, well, I thought I already explained that to you enough already. I told you that you were a fine child, did I not? I said I've taken a liking in you, but not as strong or as weak as you think."

I didn't completely understand that statement, so I just nodded my head just once, and quieted.

"Ah, come on, dearie, I'm not that bad. You just need to understand, but I fear that you can't quite do that, yet. Not yet. Soon, you shall, now, not really. But tell me, what brought you to France? You do not seem to be from here."

I tried to appear insulted, not wanting him to be suspicious. "I don't know what you mean. I've been in France for an awful long time."

"Yes, a long time you've inhabited it, but where were you from originally?"

"Well…it's complicated."

"Tell me. I'm a quick fellow, you see."

"Yeah, I know. But it's too complicated…too…_crazy_ for a man like _you_ to understand." I emphasized _crazy_ and _you_ to make it obvious that I thought him insane for capturing me and then expecting friendly chat.

But he chuckled. He didn't take offense, and he didn't show rage. He seemed…happy with himself…and the fact that I was confused and angry.

"My, you are a blunt one, aren't you? You never let anyone not know what your problem is, is that so? Ha!"

What a jerk.

"Come on, love, take things a bit lighter, hmm? The world isn't as near serious and defensive as you. If it was, I fear to imagine such a world."

_Did he just insult me, or did he compliment my protective quality?_

I rolled my eyes, willing his mouth to stop. I wanted answers, and he wouldn't answer any of them. He would turn the tables and ask me some, then ramble on about crap that I didn't care for.

"Well, tell me this: when you took me away form Rebecca a few moments ago, what should become of her?"

He smiled, then frowned, then raised his eye brows. "Oh, well, she should be with my brother, Erik."


	16. Chapter 16

** REBECCA'S POV**

Before I reached my destination, I discovered Erik waiting for me. I slowed from running to walking and tried my best to not let him—or myself—hear my breathless huffs.

"Greetings, Rebecca. I knew you'd come." He stood at the end of the corridor, still, steady, patient.

I was afraid to know how he knew.

I gulped. I knew how he knew. "How'd you know?"

He stepped closer to me, his face blank and expressionless and his voice was matter-of-factly. I was too wobbly and tired from running to step back. "From knowing you," He stopped, intently ogled me, and stepped closer. "I also know why you're here.

Even though he was a good foot away from me, I felt as if he were suffocating me from being too close. Maybe I was suffocating from not letting myself breathe heavily after the great distance I ran. I still couldn't step back. I felt cold air chilling my back. Cold sweat was bursting from my pores. I tried to talk, but all that came out was a dry mumble.

"Then let me begin my tale."

"I shall, but let us acquire a more comfortable atmosphere."

He brought himself to my side, placed his hand on my opposite shoulder and led me to a place that I both loved and dreaded. A place I used to dream of and those dreams led to nightmares. Erik's lair.

In his lair—or home, as he calls it—the room was vast and pretty, a cave of the sewers, but still, for some odd reason, comforting. I suppose I liked it because it was underground. Underground, I knew that no one could get me, no one but Erik. But I was OK with that. At least I knew he was unstable. It's the not knowing part that gets me worried.

He directed me to a door that I never saw in the movie, and one that I never noticed during my first _visit_ down here. He opened it, and it was on the smaller side, but not by any means claustrophobic, but to say it was small, I mean smaller than all the other immeasurable rooms and halls that were here that I have seen. So, smaller than the rest, but not small. It was made of red bricks, no lighting except a single large candle on a round black table that was in front of an old fashion couch that had black velvet and dark wood composing it. He closed the door as soon as we stepped in, I heard a lock securing the door, and he sat ourselves down on the couch that blended with the light-extinguished room. In the candle light, I could barely see his mask, but the part I saw seemed to glow without the flickering illumination.

"Begin your anecdote,"

I told him everything just so he wouldn't ask questions later. I told him how loving my parent's were, how their death affected me, why I felt guilty, and that my life was continued through the simple fostering, from a cat. He must have thought me insane, worse than him even, but I could not deny that that bloody cat saved me. I was small, around four years of age. It would warm me in my bed, keep me company; thus preventing me insanity from isolation, and—this is disgusting and repulsive—it taught me how steal food from trashcans and from open-kitchen restaurants. Oh, how could a cat teach? Well, I would follow it around all of the time, and even when it would hunt and look for food. It would go to a restaurant's trashcans—or anyone's trashcans—and take food from there. Learning from example, I, too, would take food from someone else's garbage containers. That's how the cat taught me. To learn form example. We would also go to one restaurant more than the others, for the chef would give my cat a good proportioned chicken or such, and I, not wanting to starve, would divide it and then eat. It's not so crazy when told like that. A teaching cat is crazy, I know, but learning form one for survival is absolutely sane, I know.

I even told him that when I was five, I went to the same restaurant as before, and there was a girl, about my age, a head taller than I, and her parents. They were entering the restaurant, and they were a beautiful picture. The parents were walking, hand in hand, the girl, skipping merrily, attempting to reach their height. Eating the rotten fruit I had found in the rubbish, I stared at the appealing moving picture. My eyes then filled with tears, recalling the time I could skip with my mother and my father, attempting to reach their height as I would skip gaily. I was choked by the blurry mockery and reformed image of my old life. I supposed the girl, which turned out to be Gloria, heard my sobs, which I didn't even hear, and she exclaimed to her mummy and daddy about the strange, poor girl at the trashcan. At first, the adults trued to shoo me away, threatening to tell my parents of my naughty behavior. I kept crying, pointing to the cat, saying that ever since my mummy and daddy died, that cat was my mummy. Their eyes softened, and the girl went to pet the feline, but it ran out of sight. I cried harder. That cat was all I had left. That impeccably black cat with yellow eyes was my last chance at survival and the big people had frightened it away. I thought I was going to kill that girl, Gloria, for scaring my foster-mother away. However, I felt a connection to her, like she could help me somehow, or she could somehow benefit me, be my friend. I didn't really understand the feeling, hating her for scaring my cat and wanting to be her friend.

The adults said, "You don't have a mummy or a daddy, do you?"

I shook my head. I wailed for the cat through my tears. They tried to quiet me, saying they could be my parents and I could have a sister, too. I screamed. I didn't want another set of parents, I didn't want a sister, I wanted my old ones to come back and I wanted my cat back. I started to run, but the man grabbed my arm. "Honey, we ain't gonna hurtcha, we want you to come home with us, to be where it's safe. Don't you want that?"

"No! No! I want Blackie back! I want Blackie back! No!" A scratched his arm in a failing attempt to get out of his grip. "Honey," The woman knelt to be level with me eyes. "We can get you a new kitty-cat. Come with us, Sweetie. What's your name, Sweets?" I kicked the older man _where it hurts_, and ran, tracing the perimeter of the restaurant where a large dumpster was. Blackie was there, on top of the heap, munching happily on some old turkey. I picked the cat and the turkey up, and sat next to the dumpster. For some reason, I didn't think they would follow me a few feet around a restaurant, but I was happy that I had my cat back. The little girl that was taller than I was at the corner, watching me hold an old cat eating an old turkey. "Ew," she screeched. Her parents followed her despaired voice, seeing the sight of the cat and I, huddled, slumped over, with some flies surrounding the meat.

"Aw, Honey," started the woman, "Put that animal down, it could have diseases. Don't tell me you're eating that, honey, put it down, we only want what's best for you, little girl."

I stayed silent and turned away. To a cat, if you made eye contact with them then looked away, they considered you a non-threat, and would most likely befriend you immediately. I thought that was the same with humans. I found that I was wrong as they clustered over me and tried to shoo the cat away as she hissed at them. I, too, hissed at them. Heck, I thought the old cat needed help warning away these scary people.

They gave me pity-eyes, you know, the kind of pity you don't want and don't need, but people insist on giving you anyway. Blackie would munch and hiss in a pattern. _Munch. Hiss. Munch. Hiss. Munch. Hiss._

The little girl piped up, "Put that ugly thing down. It's ugly and gross and yucky and it s eating something gross and weird and icky. "

I bawled. How could anyone think that beautiful, fascinating, captivating creature as _ugly? _Also, how could they_ ever _ask me to let her go, to put her down, to not want her, _to not miss her, to get another cat?_

_Why did I care for what she thought? How could she have made me cry? Why did I hate her but want her to like me?_

"I'm not lettin' Blackie go! She's my substitute mummy! Go away! You know nothing 'bout nothing! Go away! I hate you! I love her! Go away!"

"Honey," babbled the hag again, "Do you want to come with us if you could keep that thing?"

"She's not a thing! She's a livin', breathin' person! She's my new mummy! You're ugly and mean! I don't wanna go with you! I have my new mummy to take care of me!" I stumbled back, my face hot and slick with tears and mucus.

The woman turned to the man. "Honey, what can we do? This poor girl thinks that a cat can help her, and she won't accept our largesse. Should we call the police so they can take her to the orphanage or the shelter for children a few blacks away?"

"I guess it's all we can do, Hon. But she won't cooperate with anything."

"We can just tell her a thing or two…"

Their words meant nothing to me, but I knew it wasn't good as I felt Blackie's claws dig into my arms as she hissed at the odd folks.

"Sweetie, we won't take you with us," The woman said as she gritted her teeth. "We'll take you to a place where you may be allowed to have your cat and can make new friends with the same problem as you."

The little girl whispered to me. "You're stupid. You're the biggest oaf I've ever met. We could take you and your icky cat and make you smell good and your cat, but now you're going to the orphanage, where cats ain't allowed, and you'll be there forever, where creepy grown-ups will take you away to their homes and call you their kid."

I had realized she was use to me, she could benefit me and she could be my friend. Through the ignorance of childhood and an average life, she cared about my being in an orphanage. But they were all manipulative.

I howled, "You are evil! I'll go with you with my cat! I don't wanna go to a jail for children!"

The man raised his eyebrows, then shrugged "You did a mighty fine thing, there, wasn't that so hard? Come with us, Sweetie. What's your name, kid?"

"I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."

He laughed, "Smart girl, you are. Here, let's not be strangers no more. I'm Jeff Winston. I can be your daddy, if you want. This here's Jill Winston; she can be your mummy, if you want. And this here's my little angel, Gloria. Gloria Winston. She can be a swell sister to you, if you let her. What'd you say, kid? We strangers no more?"

"I guess not." I took a step forward. "My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Belcher."


	17. Chapter 17

From then on, I was Rebecca Winston, but I called myself Rebecca Belcher. I lived in their house, and they said the only way for Blackie to stay was to have her outside, but I snuck her into my bed, and she would lie on my stomach and warm me. Eventually, they found out, but didn't really care as they found she didn't make a mess on the floor.

After that, it was just school, family, and blurs of the abnormally norm. It was foreign to me, to not eat out of the trash, which I did sometimes until I learned that it was guaranteed that I wouldn't starve, and to shower daily, which didn't consist of licking one's hand and rubbing it over a face, was very different for me.

Nonetheless, I learned to be human, not a cat, but I have to say that perhaps being a cat was more fun…

And that was the end of my story, the next story would start on an airplane and tour to France gone wrong, but I didn't tell him that. He didn't need to know that.

He never interrupted my bizarre tale, not nodding nor acknowledging any noise coming form my mouth, but I could tell by the way he looked into my honest-at-the-moment eyes that he was paying attention. He sat, inactive, passive, almost waiting for something, almost as if he knew more and was waiting to be told what he already knew. "That's it? Fascinating. What an uncanny and upstanding story. I'm surprised by the way you turned out, but then again, you're a bit smarter than others realize, though not perfect…"

I blinked. "What are you surprised at?"

"That you can act this way."

"_What way?"_

"Not…not…not giving into lunacy! Good grief, a cat, you say? You loved that cat as family, and others wanted it away. Though you didn't give into normalcy, you pretended to. I see why you feel guilty. All your life, you didn't really lie, you tried to fit in, found it pointless, and simply pretended that you could be normal, you told others about the parents that adopted you, but you also told me that you referred to yourself as a Belcher descendant and you kept the cat that no one liked. Do you know how many people would simply drop their former name and life altogether and call themselves a new person? No, you kept your foundation, no matter how cracked it was."

A cracked foundation comment felt like an insult, but holding my ground felt as if it were directed as a compliment, so that's how I took it. I never thought I would be on a couch being accoladed by the infamous phantom.

This was very strange, indeed.

Then I remembered the iPods. The sudden shock of the thought of having the iPod back jerked my spine to a straight line. "Well, may I have the iPods back, as we agreed to earlier?"

He seemed annoyed. He came closer to the candle light and I saw his brow fixing his face into a scowl. "Yes, here," He tossed the iPods onto my lap.

My heart started to beat a little faster, not really knowing why he was irritated with me. It also skipped a beat here and there, as I gathered the courage to ask for another favor. The trap door.

"May I ask a question?"

"Do you mean another?"

"Um, yes?"

"Well, to ask a question about asking a question is a question, so you're asking to ask another question after the question you just asked."

Oh.

"I see. Well, may you sometime show me…show me how to go through the trap door on the stage?"

His scowl was replaced by an unreadable expression. "How do you know there is a trap door there?"

_Um, Christine Daée told me, sir._

"Well…" I didn't really want to say that.

_I saw it on TV, a moving picture box._

That wouldn't work, either.

_Well, I somehow know that you and Christine went through one at the end of Past the Point of No Return._

_You and Christine…_

I didn't want to tell him that. I didn't really want him to remember Christine through me, as last time, I though he might have been weeping.

"Answer me."

Fine.

"Well, we saw it and fell through it, but then we tried to fall through it again, but it didn't work."

He frowned. "No you didn't."

"Yes we did! It was somewhere on the edge of the stage, like near the orchestra, and in the center. We fell through, but somehow ended up outside of the Opera House then we came back inside only to find no trap door."

He thought this over, and I was surprised he was buying it, or at least not killing me for obviously lying, as I knew he must have watched us day and night, even when we first came here.

"When was this?"

"Oh, I don't know…a while ago. A year or four, I think."

"Four? That was when you first arrived. I suppose…" His voice faded, his face softened.

"Oh, so, you will?" I asked, in earnest eagerness.

"Perhaps. I must discuss it with a colleague of mine."

_Colleague? Was he joking?_

"Ah, well, thanks for considering it."

"You're welcome. But you must stay here while I do so. You will stay where I kept you when you first came here."

_Oh, no._

_No freakin' way._

_I wasn't staying _there_ again._

But I disobeyed myself. "All right."

He guided me out of the room and into the large, pretty room that I stayed at when a performance of mine went haywire and I ended up there.

It was huge, it hade a large, I'd say king-sized bed with blankets made of very fine, rich fabrics. It was made of a dark wood, and had a canopy made of a light, off-white color. In a corner of the room, there was a pile of dresses for me. I found them all disturbing, for I tried them on, and the ones I tried on felt made just for me, perfect for me. There were even bloomers and knickers and corsets that fit me like a dream, flawlessly enhancing my features, fits and designs that made me look immaculately beautiful. It was disturbing.

There was also a small couch at the end of my bed, it looked like a love-seat, for whenever I sat in it, there seemed as if only one other person could fit. At the wall opposite to the bed, there was a bureau that a few drawers. It was empty except for dust, but there was a brush in one of the drawers. On another wall, there was a large mirror that took up the entire space. No cracks or seams from where it could have been connected or built to. As far as I knew, it couldn't be opened, but I could be wrong, I mean, I didn't make the room, Erik did. I always felt as if I were being watched, sometimes it was good, sometimes it was bad, but it was always a perturbing and intrusive awareness, but I never had any proof, and I always felt that way, so it didn't really matter, and most of the time I simply dealt with it or ignored it.

As he was about to close the door, the stir within me about being trapped overwhelmed me, and I squeaked, "Will you be back soon?"

He paused, absorbedly looking at me up and down, evaluating me, and without meeting me eyes, said "Eventually."

He softly closed the door and locked it. I could hear the bolt securing my imprisonment. I plopped on the bed, not knowing what to do. I listened for any foot steps coming near or furthering from my door. I heard nothing. I had nothing to do.

So I listened.

**Gloria's POV**

_She should be with my brother, Erik._

_What was that supposed to mean?_

Angered by knowing I was kidnapped just so she could be kidnapped, as kidnap on any side is never something joyful, as anyone can imagine, I was about to give him a piece of my mind, he interrupted me, talking of nothingness. Actually, I didn't care to pay attention. He must have rambled about my safety and her safety, but I was focusing so much on not yelling and screaming and cursing my lungs out to listen.

Then, there was _BANG_ on the door. I thought it was going to burst open if it wasn't for the lock. Actually, I thought that whatever was banging the door could have been holding back…

Charles rose calmly, walked to the door and opened it nonchalantly, almost as if he expected the shadow to take the door down. Charles turned back to me and said, "Gloria, how rude of me to invite you and then to abandon you for another. Forgive me, I shall return." He closed the door slowly and I heard him lock the door. At least I was a way from the formidable dark figure.

_He was with the formidable dark figure._

I thought this over, knowing it already, but I still strained my brain on it.

_The figure was Erik._

_Charles's brother._

_What were they going to do with Rebecca?_

My thoughts stretched beyond the room, beyond Paris, above it all. I was lost in a familiar place, a place that I fearfully loved; my own mind. I dreamt and willed all the happy memories of mine to come forth, which only produced small tears, and then I willed them away, to remove them from my mind, but I could not, so I thought of my poor luck here, in a mirrored room.

Then, perhaps by some strange force, I felt happy. Gleeful, even. I wondered if I accidentally drank the tea. I looked into cup, and saw it full. I couldn't have snuck a sip without knowing it. Strangely, happily, I stood, not knowing if the very room was drugged, and Charles left to put a gas in there air to do so.

I was confused, for I believed, that though Charles was probably, just as Erik, suffering from dementia, the reasons being our kidnap, our being stalked, and that instead of living normally, they lived down here, under an opera house, and kill people.

Dementia, I hope, is not contagious.

I looked in a cluster of small quadrangle mirrors, and saw my reflection. I saw that my physical composition had improved since the last time I looked in a looking-glass. I altogether looked healthier and, I don't know….something about my eyes…..they seemed…haunted….

Perhaps it is contagious.


	18. Chapter 18

**REBECCA'S POV**

I waited for something to happen. I didn't know what to expect. Gloria disappeared, I poured my heart out for some bloody iPods, and I was trapped in a room that seemed to be shrinking with each breath I held. Waiting and breathing, waiting and breathing. I didn't have the stomach to listen to my iPod, for I would know I would be only ignoring what I was in for. Though, as ignorance is bliss, I had to get over my alethophobia.

As it became so long that my body ached from tension and worry and too much thinking and too much of the room closing in on me, I heard Erik talking. I thought he was mad, talking to himself, for he was using such terrorizing emotion and, at times, volume. Not knowing why he was talking to himself, I pressed my ear on the door to listen to the problem he was confronting with himself.

"…but she knew where it was, don't you understand? How could she have known _where_?...I'm sure there could be an answer to that; perhaps she saw seams or cracks—NO! No! There were no flaws to that trap door and you know it!...Erik—No! How could she have known? How? Did you betray me? She even knew where it led to!...but there are many trap doors among the stage, she could have easily guessed or dreamt—No! She was specific as she could get of the location of it, and she told me that it led them _outside._ There's only _one_ trap door on the stage that could take them outside of the Opera House. Brother, did you betray me?"

_Brother?_

"I could never betray you…even if I wanted to…"

"Yes you could! It would be easy! We have no resemblance, as I am ugly and you are handsome. There's no similarity there; Ugliness and Beauty. They are opposites. They are powerful and devastating creatures, but they dwell within us like the sun and the moon, light and darkness."

"You dwell in the dark."

"Shut up! Answer me; I'm starting to have my doubts in your faithfulness to me."

"Erik—"

"Answer me!"

There was a pause, then a stir of the cosmos, of the stars, of something not being right.

"But Erik,"

"But she _knows, Charles_!"

"Erik—"

"Wait!"

There was a disturbance of silence, then footsteps coming to my door. I instinctively pushed my body away from the door and onto a chair that was by the bureau in my chamber. I quickly with shaking hands tried to take off my old, ballet shoes. I almost got off one, trying to make seem as if I were doing something, anything besides eavesdropping. The footsteps came to a halt at my door. My heart stopped as they did. I froze, but then, wondering if there was a peephole of some sort to make sure I was still in my room that he had, I returned to fumbling with my shoes. Minutes past by, and from my no longer pumping heart, my hands grew cold and unfeeling as my face burned with anxiety.

The footsteps slowly shifted from my door.

Erik's brother, _Charles_, was here, with him, in the very same opera house. Did he dwell in the sewers as well, or did he escape into the light of day, living as a normal person? I recall the memories that Erik revealed to me, he told me that his brother was fortunate…yes, yes….he said that in the fire, Erik went in face first, but I rope caught on his ankle, and he held on to the railing and the wall, and the rope caught fire, and burned his brother's—_Charles's—_back.

Charles had Gloria.

_Oh, my, gosh._

_Oh, my, gosh._

_I need some help._

The talking never returned.

The footsteps never returned.

My pulse did, but it as the quickest I have ever known it to be. My hands were still shaking and I my legs felt heavy. I slugged over to the bed and prayed that sleep would soon come.

**Gloria's POV**

I walked in front of the mirrors and stared at my unreal twin. Growing more bored than worried, the giddiness not ceasing, I decided to fix my hair. I patted it and tried to get it as straight as possible. Being man-handled by an insane gentleman didn't really suit my look. When I found myself presentable, I sat back on the couch.

If Charles was as observant as his brother, he probably would notice the untouched tea cup. Believing so, I poured some of the tea back into the pot, though not enough to be worthy of being asked for seconds, and then placed it back on the table as if nothing happened. I placed my cheek on my hand and thought. I thought of all things and of no things. I thought of what I wish I that I didn't have to think of, but I did. I thought continuously of Rebecca and if she was OK. I also thought of Erik and what he would want with her.

The most unclean of thought had passed through my head, and I shuddered. Thoughts of selfishness and of my own safety came to me, as well. Charles, if as bad as his brother, or as bad as I think his brother, probably had the same idea with me as Erik had with Rebecca.

I swallowed, wanting to cry. I hugged myself, fighting and suppressing the urge to scream and weep.

I looked down, not wanting to see my pathetic image in the mirror through my peripheral vision. As my eyes watered, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I jumped, yipped in a similar fashion to a small dog, and blinked away the tears as best as I could. It was Charles. I was so busy with my peladophobia that I didn't notice. Charles and Erik were the cause of my peladophobia. I hated them for it. I wanted to crawl up in a little ball and sleep my years away, ignoring them, disregarding everything.

"Gloria, I can only imagine your fear, but you'll be all right."

I sniffed, "What about Becky?"

He blinked, and then looked away. "She'll be fine, too."

"Promise?"

He only stared in return.

"Charles?"

"I'm sorry,"

"Sorry for—"

Everything turned black.

I awoke, realizing that I had slept, or had been unconscious. _I was knocked unconscious._ Not knocked, but I was forced into that state. I looked around, and I saw my room, and I saw Rebecca, bathing my forehead with a cool rag. It was nice to see her face, but something was different, something was unnerving about her, but I didn't know what. I tired to speak but she shushed me. I closed my eyes again, and heard a voice, and it wasn't Rebecca's. The weird occurrence pried my eyes open, me eyes glued to Rebecca. But Rebecca wasn't there. _It was Charles._ It entered my mind that I was half-asleep and I imagined Rebecca there, and Charles's real voice pushed me into reality. I sat up, startled, recalling that he was the cause of my comatosely condition. In my sleep, he could have done _anything._ However, him being a gentleman, he wouldn't….but then, again, Erik was a gentleman…he was just off his rocker…..and that must have meant that Charles was, too….

I stuttered lots of things, but not even I knew what I was trying to communicate unto him.

He put his fingertips to my mouth to put an end to my strange chatter, and spoke to me. "Gloria, forgive me. I had to. You know why, and you're smart, you know how."

I could only remember him leaving…then feeling eccentrically blithe. "The room…what happened?"

He lowered his hand from my mouth and he looked pained to have to look me in the eye. "Drugged. Gas. When I left…you weren't…so I turned it off…and waited."

I was scared. I was scared that, like Rebecca, I could temporarily or permanently belong to someone, to an earthly bound, but certainly unearthly, deranged master. I finally looked around the room. It was different form the white mirrored room. This one had stone walls with furniture that had blood-red accents. The king sized bed had covers made of divine fabrics, a canopy resting over the bed was and off-white with red bordering, I had a bureau and a vanity mirror, and there was a full length mirror on a wall that was to the ceiling to the floor, and was as wide as the wall itself. I was surprised that there was a mirror at all in this room, but Charles wasn't deformed, he was pretty handsome, so there was no need in avoiding mirrors from him.

"But…you…"

He closed his eyes in derision. "I know. This is no way to treat a lady by any means. I'm sorry, I truly am. If there was—"

"To make it up to me?"

"Yes, I feel horribly guilty about this whole thing, but—"

I remembered that Rebecca wanted to experiment with the trap door on the stage. I interrupted him. "Take me and Becky to the stage's trap door. It'll get us out of here." I talked so fast, I didn't realize that the way I worded this made it seem as if I were trying to escape him through the trap door, which was partly true. However, he took it as if he already knew that I knew. It was as if he could read my face, my thoughts. "I shall, soon. You will."

"What about Rebecca? She has to come, too."

"I—well—I—can't promise anything."

"Because of him?"

He shakily sighed. "Yes, I don't know what he thinks of this. I said that I was not honorable. He said the only way that you too could have found out was that I told you or introduced you to it before he approved of it."

"You need his approval? You're normal looking! You can walk among the normal people in the sunny streets and give the police clues about him capturing, torturing, and killing people!"

He starting shaking, trembling, some strong, unidentifiable of emotion. I hoped it wasn't anger and that he would start to think of killing me. He placed his forehead on his hand. "You have to understand, he is far smarter and…well, you know…more than anyone else on this earth. I am his brother, and I owe him a lot."

"You owe him nothing. He is but your brother; he killed so many others, what make you think he wouldn't kill you?"

His shaking worsened. "I—owe—him—everything…I owe—him—my life."

"What? How? Why?"

"Long ago…he saved my life…and I ruined his! How could I? How could I? I owe him the world and more, and I am unable to give him that, so I help him with whatever task he says. I'm not his servant, I merely give him assistance…and, to both our knowledge, I try to keep him under control…"

"Under control? You let him kill!"

"I know…but only to those that either deserve it or when I was in such a position—and he such a rage—that I could not help him manage himself….I know he killed people…and each of their deaths are _my _fault…and…"

"And…Christine?"

He continued to quake, his eyes sad and worried, "You know? Oh, _Sacre Bleu, _you know!" He turned away from me, and through the mirror I saw that his entire form shook from guilt. I felt sympathy for him, him being my capturer or not. I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling as if we were both out of place.

"That event with…Christine…was a mistake…I never wanted it to happen…but I suppose I never wanted _this_ to happen either."

"Then why did you capture me? I still don't understand!"

"I am compelled to help him, understand that? He saved my life, and I want to make it up to him, understand?" He stood and shrugged my hand away. "Of course it has occurred to me that he _could_ kill me, but I _know_ he _won't._ He wouldn't kill a woman nor would he kill a child. He just wouldn't. He may do many things to that woman or child, but never kill. Death was never a big deal to Erik after his deformity, and if he wanted, he could decide that he regretted saving me, and kill me, but he wouldn't. I know too much of him and I do pose as a threat, but I shall never tell authorities nor anyone else…I'd never tell, and Erik knows that I'm that way. We may doubt each other, but we know how the other is."

He seemed upset, almost angry, but I as angry, too. "You said you didn't want this to happen, but you feel coerced to help Erik. What do I have to do with this?"

He clenched and unclenched his fists and told me that I was down here so I couldn't get 'help', which was to notify the managers of Erik's being alive again, as since then, their inactivity, or really their sneakiness, has let the managers believe that Rebecca run away for a while and that I was simply crazy. "They came down here, before!" he hollered. "Didn't you notice that they came down here in search of Erik, but he created so many traps and tricks that they couldn't find the path they once took to find him?"

I challenged him, "Then why am I with you, and not Erik?"

"Do you want to be with Erik?"

I gulped, "No,"

"Then that is why I watch you and not Erik."

"But Rebecca doesn't want to be with Erik! "

"I have no control over his activities with Rebecca, but I can control if there shall be one more girl in his care."

I couldn't control the widening of my eyes. "Care?" Yeah, care? What made him think he took care of her?

"Yes, in his presence, in his environment, his home, his care. Now, you're in my presence, my environment, and my care, and unless you are neutral and have no preferences, you are to stay in this room, in my home." I grew light-headed, but I was glad the giddiness of the gas died. "Are we safe?" I meant Rebecca and I. He started toward the door as if he didn't hear me, and I assumed he didn't, until he walked out of the room and had it opened just a crack, he said "As long as you are ignorant, you are safe, but even with that, I make no promises."


	19. Chapter 19

BECKY"S POVIt was all starting to connect. Charles, Erik, deformity, Charles visiting Erik, Charles having Gloria…it made sense, but very insane sense. I sat up, remembering how I had prayed to sleep to forget all this…but it didn't work. I had a dream, and it was of freedom, freedom that I could never acquire. I stood, stretching luxuriously, I heard my tendons and bones crack and snap. I changed into another creepily tailored dress that had a built-in corset and brushed my hair. I tried the door, and for some unfathomable reason, it was unlocked. I slapped myself, assuring myself that I wasn't still dreaming. I opened it to create the slightest of crevices, and peeked around. Erik was on the organ, playing something beautiful and genius. I stepped out of my cell, and softly closed the door. I walked a tad bit closer to Erik, but he didn't turn around, but it was probably for the better. I slowly crept to the edge of the lake, looking out to the water, to the endlessly dark world that I had grown accustomed to. I stooped to my knees and observed my reflection through the water. I then realized how awful-smelling the murky water was. I crinkled my nose, and stood up to not allow the odor to pierce my nostrils again. "I figured you had grown bored of staying on that stuffy room. You are not truly used to the confining grip of isolation and darkness." I whipped around, and saw he was still playing at the organ. How could he have seen or heard me? I remained silent, drifting away from the lake and toward him. "I figured I could trust that you would not stray away. It is not running away that bothers you; it is the mere option to. In this way, giving you an option that you still cannot take, you now have a bit more liberty than what you came with." I shuffled closer, though out of his jumping range so he couldn't attack me out of rage. I wondered if this liberty had benefits. "In taking this emancipation, can I walk the halls of your house as well?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"To familiarize myself with this place. I have gathered that I may stay here a while, should I not know the place where I am resting?"

He stopped playing. I stepped back and shifted my body's weight from my left foot to my right. I was still very nervous in his company when all was silent. Why doth silence hear to mine ears unpleasurably?

"Well, I suppose. I shall show you some halls that lead to my house, but that is it."

I couldn't believe it. Outside of this place! Sure, I was still on his grounds and on his terms, but it was better than staying in my chamber. In a single action, he stood, twirled round to face me, and took my hand and led me to a glimpse of freedom! He didn't really show me anything, not like a tour or anything, but he had shown the way through a mixture of different hallways, or perhaps they were the same, I couldn't tell, we were either going in circles or a diversity of mazes, it didn't matter, I didn't know where we were going. I still don't know how, but sometime Erik let go of my hand. I suppose he trusted me to be more than a grown-up child. I lost sight of him. He vanished from my sight, as his hand from mine. At first, I didn't want to go anywhere, I thought he could come back, retrace his ghostly steps, and get me back, yell at me a bit, then go back to his home. Well, I waited many minutes, and when I feared it would be an hour, I started to walk by myself, knowing not where my legs were taking me. After what seemed to be hours, even if it was only a couple of minutes in actual time, I felt even more nervous and afraid than before. Suddenly, a cold, bad-smelling hand trapped my mouth, and a voice followed it. "Don't scream. Do as I say and you can be fine." I nodded, a lie, for I knew that when I wanted, I would surely scream and run as fast as I could away from him. He let go, but I wanted to make sure it wasn't Charles, Erik's twin, so I turned to face the stranger, only to find it was a familiar face, though a nameless one. I went back in the files of my mind to remember the nameless-but-known-face, and I could only remember seeing him in the crowd of an audience of a show, once. "Remember me? I should hope so. I came to a bunch of your shows, I even applauded the loudest, just for you, I was the first to come, and the last to leave. Don't you remember me?"

Unmemorable memories flooded in my head. "I remember you. I just don't know your name."

"Of course you don't, but I know yours. Marie-Ange Belcher, ay? That's what the credits said. Your sibling, Renée Belcher, your little partner? Yes, I know you and your name. I'm Paul Mounier."

I was still wary of him and why he was here. "Why are you here? How'd you find me?"

"Well," he smirked. "I figured since last time you ran away, 'member?"

I remembered the lie. Erik and Charles made everyone think I ran away and that Gloria had gone insane from my absence. I nodded.

"Well, you and I both know as well as everyone else on this earth that only stupid children and whores run away, ay?"

I shook my head. I feared that I knew what he was hinting at…

His smirk broadened and grew darker. "Of course you do. And you're not stupid, so that only leaves one other choice…"

"What? I'm not like that! Go away! I don't like what you are implying!" I took a step back, but he grabbed my hand. "But I fancy it. Why am I down here? Oh, well, these halls are always great for finding girls like _you."_

I kicked his shin, stepped on his foot, then kicked him where it would particularly hurt a man. I ran, and when I thought of slowing down, I just ran faster, not caring that my lungs and legs were threatening to explode. It reminded me of guerillas and the search-and-destroy method used in the Vietnam War. The American troops had to find and kill Vietcong and Vietnamese soldiers in unmapped, unfamiliar land, which was why a lot more Americans were killed in that area than Vietnamese. I felt like one of the American soldiers in the forest of Vietnam, looking for the enemy, but not knowing where to hide as the good spots were occupied by the Vietnamese. I eventually slowed, walking very fast instead of running. My panting was relentless, and I truly wanted the company of Erik more than anyone else. A few moments later, I heard footsteps. I walked back, fearing it was the Paul Mounier guy that had frightened me. As quietly as possible, I furthered myself from the footsteps only to hear them run towards me. I turned my head, and saw Mounier. I ran, but he caught up to me and knocked me to the ground. He was on top of me, my back facing him, my stomach and chest on the cold, dirty floor. "Look, this can go easy, or it can go down right miserable. I could kill you, or you can do what I want."

I screamed. And I screamed and I screamed and screamed. I yelped until I needed breath, my shouts growing quiet from the need of air. He chuckled, "No one can hear you this far down the basement of the House." He tore the laces of the corset dress apart, the dress sliding down, but I held it up. I struggled under his heavy form, but I couldn't get away. Then, he just stopped. Grasping my hair, trying to turn me over, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring straight ahead. I followed his gaze, and saw a glowing white mask. He stood, backing away from me, and then turned the other way to run. The black shadow with a white face swooped onto him before Paul could even get a few inches away from me. Paul was taken down to the floor, and he grabbed my ankle to save himself. A gloved hand seized his hand and crushed it; I could hear the bones breaking and shattering. Paul screamed as his hand was taken away from my sight, into a darker shadow than the darkness that already consumed the halls. I could see neither of them, I could only hear gasps and muttered apologies and bargains and prayers. I heard one last crack, the drop of a body, and saw Erik serenely stepping out of the shadows. I tried to push up the top of my dress back, but it was pointless as the ribbons on the back were ripped and couldn't tie again, so I had to keep holding it to keep it properly up. As I sat on the filthy floor, I squinted, looking past Erik walking toward me in a similar fashion to Michael Myers; I distinguished Paul's body and his head facing very separate directions. His neck was broken…

Erik kneeled down with me, and after a bit of silence, he whispered through gritted teeth, his nostril flaring, "What, for your sake, were you thinking?"

I stared at him, wanting to hug and thank him for saving me. "Thank you, Erik," I hugged him. I was so happy that I wasn't hurt or killed that I had to hug him. I was not only hugging him, I was embracing Life, glaring and kicking and spitting at Death and Misfortune. He didn't return the enfoldment, but I didn't really care. I just cared that he saved me. I stopped myself form crying before the water works could even start, and held back sobs and the great lump in my throat. I squeezed him tighter and kissed him on the cheek. I wouldn't dare to do anything else form fear of him taking something the wrong way, and plus the age difference between us. Even in a perfect world, he was still old enough to be a very elder brother or my father. "Thank you," I whispered again. I could feel the dress sliding slightly, but I was reveling too much in Life to fix it. He wrapped his arms around me, tighter than I expected, but not suffocating. His gloved hands on my bare back was a strange sensation that made me shiver, but I made it look like I was cold by holding it in as long as I could, then shivering violently from the build up of nerves, for I didn't want to upset him about him touching me after his rescuing me. He pressed his mouth on my head, as if kissing me, but it wasn't really a kiss, it was more of him resting his lips on head. He took a deep breath, but I didn't rightly know if he had smelt my hair or if it was a breath from the rage of killing someone and having to have to rescue me from the cruel world as if I were a small child.

I had the strangest urge to stay like that, in his arms, under his protection, but I started to lose feeling in my legs and arms. Even with the pain, I wanted to just be with him, just in that moment. I didn't know what I felt, gratefulness, or an actual trust that he really did care about me, like I wasn't just some pet that he liked to keep around.

He stood and offered his hand to mine. "Come, we must return home."

I accepted his hand, and stood with him, and he led me to his home.

Actually, it was _our_ home.

In our home, we sat in the black room with a single candle he took me to before, though it was a happier atmosphere because of this new found trust and emotion, but I was a tad self-conscious, as I had to keep pulling my dress up. He told me that he would let me see the trapdoor. "I don't know why it intrigues you so; then again, I didn't know why you wanted to wander the corridors of my home. As long as problems like that, or of any sort, follow you to the trap door, I will let you."

I beamed. "Thank you, Erik!"

He eyed me inquiringly, "Yes, of course,"

About a week later, Erik acted strangely; he definitely remembered that innocent kiss I planted on his cheek. It was not that big of a change, but a change that I noticed. He would stand or sit closer to me (whenever there was a time we sat in each other's presence) than he used to, he kept the door to my room unlocked, and sometimes, I think he would go out of his way to make contact with me. To illustrate this, there were many times when he'd just call me to the dark room with the small couch in the dark room, just to look at me. He would watch me relentlessly, but I didn't know what he was looking for. His beautiful blue eyes would be trained on me, a unique twinkle dancing in them; I would only watch his eyes watching me. His eyes would look me up and down, shift eye-ball-to-eyeball, and unblinkingly, unmoving, peer into my eyes. It was as if we were children in school and he had a crush on me, but wouldn't actually say it in plain words. I never knew what to say, and a part of me never wanted to break the strange bridge that we had crossed, or the equally deviated link we had formed. Through the oddness of it all, the deflected perversion of our relationship and the things we did, we truly were thoughtful of one another.One day, Erik beckoned me to the room again, and after intently looking into my eyes, he produced speech. "Today, you may go out; I am taking you to the trap door that you wanted to see."

"May Gloria come, too?"

"Yes, she will come."

"Oh, thank you! When shall we go?"

"At this time, if you'd like."

I leaned forward slightly with the craziest, goofiest smile on my face. "Really? Great!"

He tilted his head somewhat, and I would have said his head was still straight if I hadn't noticed the faint shifting in the position of his eyes. I'd say he even almost smiled…almost…he could have been very well frowning for all I knew, it was so faint of a twitch of his mouth, but I daresay it was upward…

He took me into winding and circling and turning and narrowing and widening hallways. He must have been a very smart cookie to memorize all of those halls, and to know each of the so flawlessly! I noted that he never let my hand go, as I suppose we couldn't have me wandering the halls again…

We came to a dead end. I turned to Erik to ask him why we were in a concluded hall, but before I could, he turned from me, tapped a brick on the wall with one hand in a pattern without rhythm, as his other was still clutching mine. The wall was making a grating noise, and then it moved! It formed an opening! It then took us to another dead end. "Erik, why is there a dead end that leads us to another dead end?"

He turned back to me, "Ah, but the dead end that lead us to this one, was it really a dead end if it led us to something else?"

"Oh, well, I suppose not. It's another secret entrance to somewhere."

He pressed his foot on a brick that was on the very bottom of the wall, and the wall grated across the floor, and revealed Box Five, a seat in the Opera House that was never to be bought or sat at, even if a show wasn't on. He stepped out first. There was one large step down, then he took my hand to get me out, and the door closed silently. I started to think that you could only hear the grating noise from the bricks and walls on the inside, not the outside. Somehow, the walls were insulated so the outside world couldn't hear…

He took us down two short flights of stairs, then back stage, then to the center stage itself, right in front of the orchestra. He turned to me and looked as if he were about to ask me something, but then, Gloria timidly stepped out of the shadows with…Erik? Without a mask? Not deformed? I glanced back at Erik, and saw him, mask and flesh and all, and looked back at Gloria and Erik's twin. Erik's twin. It must have been Charles. When Erik saw Charles, I noticed that he grew formal, even down right cold and uneasy in front of him, but Charles seemed to take it as if he knew Erik's temper and knew better than to ask for it. Charles said, in a voice similar to Erik's, but somehow different, perhaps less sad, and less heavy, "Rebecca, Gloria, you can go through the trap door, now."

We went to the spot that had the supposed trap door.Gloria pushed me in, "You first," However, she grabbed my hand so she was right behind me, right above me in mid-jump. We went sliding and twisting down tunnels that seemed as if they would never end. For so long a while, that would have I thought it was almost boring to keep going down the passageways, if it wasn't for my adrenaline gushing through my veins and head.

It was all black with the swooshing of our bodies. Then, I saw a light. A light to outside! I wondered if we would land in our universe or not. I whooshed out, and I was rolling on the ground from the force of the momentum from being so long whooshing in the tunnels. As I rolled, I saw a dirt road, then black. Then, a world beyond any world of any universe.

It was the link to all the worlds and universes.


	20. Chapter 20

I was weightless, floating in the portal. It was as if I was in outer space, but instead of being black, the space was a sky blue. It had stars, planets, doors, and numbers. Even though I was floating effortlessly, I was somehow zooming past everything to only see even more doors of various styles, planets of different shapes and sizes, and more numbers, which I realized were the counting of years. Nothing had an order or sequence, not even the numbers. Everything was random, and yet perfectly placed.

Gloria wasn't holding my hand anymore, so I looked back to see if she was behind me. She wasn't. I silently screamed. I tried to call out to her, but nothing happened. I turned back to face the silent portal-world and saw the year 2004. The year I was sucked out of my reality. I then saw 2008. That would be the year I would be eighteen in that world. I touched the number, its digits foreign to me, for I had gotten used to the years of the eight-teen hundreds. The number dissolved, and it opened a window to my previous, ancient reality, but in the never-experienced year of 2008. I saw my mother—my step-mother—Gloria's real mother. I was never close to that woman. She was always too cheerful for my taste, not that I'm a whining pessimist, either, but she always baked us cookies and bought us too many material objects…I just wasn't a fan of that.

I saw her TALKING TO GLORIA. Gloria? Did she somehow go back home without me? I then saw that Gloria turned from her mother and started TALKING TO ME. Me? How could I be where I'm not? Or was not? Was I in the past or the present? Or no-when?

We, the people who were Gloria and I in the window, were chatting happily with Mother, and then my step-father walked in and joined the merriment. I started to tear up. When we were sucked into the movie universe of The Phantom, were we replaced by doubles so no one would suspect of such a phenomenon? If so, who was the master of all the worlds and times and universes and dimensions?Suddenly I felt as if I were punched in the gut; I flew backwards, being dragged by an unknown force back to where I came from to get here. The movie universe.

I bounced on the dirt road again, saw black, and woke up.


	21. Chapter 21

I woke up?

_I must be home again. _

_What a strange dream. I can't remember a thing about it, but I know that it was weird._

I sat up from my bed and rubbed my forehead. I felt a cool rag on it and had a horrendous headache. I was glad to be home, in my bed, pain or not.

"Blackie?" I called out. Why'd I call out her name? That cat died two months ago. I remembered crying and not going to school the following day. I also remembered how my step-parents wanted to make it better by assuring me that they would get a new cat, and they did, and I do love cats, and I took grand care of it, and I considered the animal a friend, a part of my family, but it never—nor ever will—take the place of Blackie.

"Gloria?"

Nothing.

"Lucy?" My step-mother's name.

"Frank?" My step-father's name.

Nothing.

They would be furious that I said their personal names, instead of 'Mother,' or 'Father,' but I never called them 'Mum,' or 'Dad.' Those words are sacred to a child, and though 'Mother' and 'Father' and 'Mum' and 'Dad' by definition mean the same thing, I could never bring myself to call them such intimate names. I only called them 'Mother' and 'Father.' Never 'Mum' or 'Dad'. Those words are sacred…I only had one mum and one dad…

Even though they would be furious with my calling them their first names instead of their titles, at least I would have their attention, as apparently Gloria was sleeping or something, as she could never wake up to or for anything.

I tried to get out of bed, but ended up falling out. I cursed, and then instinctively covered my mouth with my hand. I never cursed that much and I never enjoyed it. I wrestled with the blankets on the floor to get out of its warm and comfortable hold to stand up. I then fell after standing up. I stood again, and opened the door. Tried to, at least. It was locked. I cursed again. Why would my family lock the door? Tired of cursing so frequently and so suddenly, I lightly banged my head against the wall next to the door.

_Thump._

"Rebecca—"

_Thump._

"Stop—"

_Thump._

"Cursing—"

_Thump_.

"It's—"

_Thump._

"Not—"

_Thump._

"Cool."

_Thump._

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

This only made my headache worse, but perhaps pain would teach me to not use such foul language.

"Cool? A very strange choice of text, but, Rebecca, is thumping your head _cool_ when you have a concussion?"

_A concussion? Wait, who was even talking to me? It sounded so familiar… _

I whipped around, and saw that the voice lit a candle.

"Rebecca, do you remember the last twenty-four hours?"

Through the light of the candle, I discovered that some freak in a mask was talking to me. Some freak in a mask. What a comical thing to say when some freak in a mask just broke into your home and entered your room.

But believe me, he was a _freak_ and he _wore a mask._ Who knows what or who he was? A stalker? A robber? A serial killer? But what was so strange is that if I survived whatever he would do with me, I could still identity him, as he only wore half of a mask…

I thought I knew him somewhere…but where? When did I meet this stranger? This…stalker that trespassed into my home and bedroom?

I tried to inspect him, to remember where he could have met me, but it was hard to concentrate on his image _and_ past images as my eyes would automatically and methodically shift from left to right. As my eyes bounced back and forth, I saw a figure on a couch at the end of my bed. The figure was Gloria. I could tell by the light dancing across her features. She was sleeping. I could hear her peaceful snoring.

I pressed my back to the door. I made it look like I lost my balance, so that the guy wouldn't suspect that I was terrified out of my wits and so he wouldn't be provoked to attack me. "Um, what happened in the last twenty-four hours?" My mouth felt dry and lazy.

"Ah, well, that fall you took, you hit the wheel of a wagon, it gave you a good hit to the head, and a concussion possessed you. You hit the wheel; you went into the road head first and just bounced off the carriage. You sprung so far from it that you landed next to the trap door's exit, and Gloria landed on top of you. She tried to talk to you, but you didn't respond…you've been resting ever since."

I dropped my hands form the security of the door to my side and felt silk along my frame. I grabbed a handful of the material and realized that I was in a nightgown. I eyed the masked weirdo, wondering if he_ looked_ at me…or worse…

"Rebecca, I am not a sleaze, as you may suspect. Gloria dressed you. She insisted to stay and watch you sleep in case you awakened. She sat there," he gestured to the love seat that she snoozed on. "Watching you for hours. She eventually came to this state." He paused, and then added, "If I saved you only to hurt you, I should have simply left you, or don't you remember your rescue?"

_What was this man talking about? How did he save me? Oh, I had a concussion, so he snuck into my room and watched me be unconscious. Whoop-di-doo. My hero._

The room began to spin, and I tried to move to sit on the bed, but my feet glued themselves to the ground. The man stood, placed the candle on a drawer next to my bed, took my arms, and sat me on the bed next to him.

"If you don't mind me asking, but who are you, and how did you save me? I mean, you could very well be a hip dude, but you broke into my home and intruded my bedroom. What motivated you to do that?"

He at first seemed perplexed my language, like he didn't understand what I said. Then he looked sadly at me, piteously into my eyes, and he never let go of my arms. "You don't remember me? Well, I thought I was unforgettable, but you have proved me wrong, Rebecca. My name is Erik. I saved you from a conceited, selfish fool. We've known each other before then, even, but that was…a very significant part of our companionship."

_Erik._

_Where have I heard your name before?_

_I read a book a couple of times, and I've watched several television shows and movies with your name. Where were you from? Were you even real?_

_The Phantom of the Opera…_

That's where he was from!

Thoughts and flashes of events streaked across my mind's eye.

I shook my head, which felt as if I were shaking my brains out.

"Erik…? It can't be…"

"And why not, dear? You are clearly not from France. Rebecca is not a French name. It is English, and no Brit in their right mind would come to France at this time. You must be American. Do you remember why you never told me so? It was always obvious, but you never told me…"

"What are you talking about?" I massaged my temples. I'm not French, big deal. My ancestors were French, but they eventually moved to America after the Korean War. Why did it matter to Erik if I was American? Why was Erik even talking to me? How did he even materialize into my world?

"Why is it your problem that I'm American? I have a French last name, but my family moved to America."

"Why?"

"I don't know! Why do you care? Why are you even here? Why are you in my home? How did you sneak past my parents?" I was talking so fast that I said 'parents' instead of 'family' or 'step-parents.'

"You are referring to Lucy and Frank…Rebecca…where do you think you are?"

"Where do I think I am?" That was an odd question. But then I remembered that he said I had a concussion, so he was probably asking me stupid questions to know how far out there I was. "I'm at my house! Where do you think _you_ are?" The pain of my head failed to enable me to be polite or frightened of Erik. I simply didn't care about logic anymore, how a character form a movie got into my room, or how a deadly character could mean my death.

"Rebecca…" he began, tightening his grip on my arms. "You aren't in America, do you realize that?"

"I…what? Not in America? How can that be? Why the heck would I go any where besides America? Don't get me wrong, I love to travel, but why would I not be in America?" Then it hit me, the trip to France for French class. I went to the trip already? Wasn't it weeks from now? Then where was I? In a French hotel? Did the guy break into a hotel?

"They aren't here!" I exclaimed, referring to my step-parents. "Erik, how did I get to France?"

"I don't know, Rebecca. I've been trying to figure that out since I first saw you. When I first laid eyes on you, you looked as if you were dropped from the skies. You looked positively lost and out of place."

"When was that?"

"When I first saw you? Four years ago, when you first entered the Opera House. Rebecca, you're in France, in the Opera Populaire, in its cellars, in…my home…what _do_ you remember?"

Bam. It hit me like that. I stared at him, seeing myself faint on a stage, being dragged down twisting halls, myself unconscious, but somehow seeing myself, and waking up in a cave-like area. He played the organ…he yelled and shook me…he locked me somewhere until I did something he wanted…obedience…cooperation…

_But four years?_

"You…_kidnapped_ me? And Gloria?" I glanced over to her slumbering form. She seemed safe, serene…calm…

I wished I could be that.

But she stirred. I feared that my eyes somehow bothered her in her rest. She punched the air, and mumbled something. I tilted my head at her, wondering what she could have been dreaming. Her head started twisting form side to side, then punched the air again, and murmured "Rebecca, get back here…"

Oh! She was dreaming of me! Was her slumber troubled with my misfortune? I was melting on the spot. I felt a tingling sensation throughout my body from the gaiety that I received by Gloria caring for me so deeply.

"Get back here," she continued. "Rebecca, get back here, that's my pizza!" She punched the air again and folded her arms idly against her chest.

OK, I was wrong….she was hungry….not scared for me…

I looked back at him, my eyes still moved hither and thither, no matter how hard I tried to look into him and seek the truth.

He removed the rag from my head, touched it, and then placed it back on. "Your wound is not that bad. There is a bump on it, and the bleeding, for the most part, has stopped, or at least slowed, and your pupils are different sizes. Rebecca, you should lie down." Though his words were kind and caring, he had a commanding tone in his voice. I felt as if he were a long last friend, like a foreign protector or guardian. I hugged him and placed my head on his chest. "Thanks for caring, Erik. I don't remember much, and I've come to the point that I think you're trying to hide your rage with me, but the things I remember are little, and they piece together so few things…"

"I am not…angry with you, but I am at what has happened, and how I let it happen."

"Oh, if you're talking about the hit to the head, it wasn't your fault…I mean, you didn't push me or anything…" It then crossed my mind that he could have very well pushed me in front of a carriage.

"Yes, but I let you into the streets, knowing that there were cars and people busying the roads, and anything could have happened to you. I let you go outside, and that was my mistake."

I felt trapped, as if he would never let me out of the room, of his clutches, of his arms, again. "No, letting me go wasn't your mistake…it was…letting me do something crazy, like getting hit by a wagon."

"The only reason you got hit was that you had freedom to go out."

I felt my heart speeding up against him. The pulse in my head throbbed. I closed my eyes, but willed myself to keep awake. "No, Erik, you spoke of a trap door earlier, letting me swing around that was the mistake, a mistake of mine because I thought…" Wait, what was I thinking? Why would I want to go through a trap door that led to the streets? That was stupid. To escape…to get away from something…but what? Who? Erik?

Bursts. Explosions. Sparks. Fireworks went off in my head.

I wanted to go back home! That's why I did it! The pieces of my fogged memory seemed to be clear. The bits and blurbs of my mind that had shown me get captured by Erik, I obviously had a hate for him! I remembered the story of _The Phantom_ and, well, he was a crazy, unstable guy. He captured Christine and was obsessed with her. Why would he feel anything for me? If not, then why would I be here? I mean, I'm a nobody…a nobody with a no-memory.

"Why'd I go through the trap door?"

He paused, and then said flatly, "I don't know."

"I don't either. I wish I knew."

The world blurred at the edges, even through my closed eyes, my other senses dulled, like whenever I heard Gloria snore, it sounded far away, muffled. There was a silence in between her breaths and my heartbeat that hurt my ears, and my eyes were tearing up form the raging quiet.

"Rebecca, get back here," she said again. "Give me back my Pepsi…"

The pain in my head became more immense, more overpowering, and yet I felt calmer with each second of derision that passed by. Then, I fell asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

I knew I was dreaming. I was dreaming of something that already had happened, and it was a memory I was very fond of, one that every so often I still look back on and smile.

Gloria and I were getting ready for a Halloween Party at our school. Two hours before the party, we were relaxing on the couch in our living room. I was dressed as Christine and Gloria was dressed up as the Phantom, both characters form the 2004 movie. I was reading—as usual—a thick Gothic book. Gloria was sleeping, and eventually her feet became placed on my lap, but whenever I read a book, I couldn't give a care about the world around me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of Gloria's eyes peep open. "Rebecca, make me a grilled cheese sandwich."

"Make me,"

"Well, make me make you!"

"Make me make you make me!"

"Um….what?"

"No!"

"Aw, come on, it's always better when you cook! I'm still not allowed to even touch the doggone stove!"

"Make me!"

"Oh, not this again. Pl-e-e-ease!"

I childishly stuck my tongue out at her, and returned to my book. She gave me puppy-dog eyes. "But I don't wanna get up!"

"Make me!"

"Make you what?"

"Make me get up!"

"OK," she said, as she shoved me off the couch.

I hopped back on the couch indifferently.

"C'mon!" she whined.

"No, make me!"

"Make me make you!"

"Make me make you make me!"

"Well…make me make you make me make you!"

"Make me make you make me make you make me!"

"OK, I'm stopping."

"Good! There's gonna be plenty of food at the bloody party!"

She stuck her tongue at me, and she fell back asleep, and I went back to my book. That's how we lingered until it was time to leave for the party.

At the party, almost instantly, Gloria whispered, "Hey, shouldn't we kinda role play? You know, since I'm dressed like the Phantom, I should act like him. Same with you. Won't that be fun?"

"Sure! What are you gonna act like? An emo, romantic, obsessed weirdo?"

"Um, yeah,"

"Oh, OK! So, then, that would make me a—"

"Big busted, big haired, wide eyed, faint-hearted blonde!"

"But I'm brunette! And so is the 2004 version of Christine!"

"Well, she dyed her hair!"

"Eh, a very good case."

"Yes."

"But no fair! I don't wanna act like that! I'm gonna act like how I want Christine to act! I'm gonna act smart, but innocent, pretty and confident, but modest, and flirtatious to you, but still ignorant of your psychotic deeds."

"So, basically how you are now?"

"Um, yeah. Even the psychotic deeds part."

"HEY!"

"Well, c'mon, you are evil."

"Well, I can't blame you there. Let's party!"

"OK, um, _my love, my dear Erik."_

She laughed, then silenced, bowed, and said solemnly yet passionately, "Yes, my dear, dear, _Christine."_

"Well, my demented love, I'm going to go to the ladies room. Don't spy on me!"

Gloria leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and said, "Not, spying dear, just always watching. I'll see you in a bit, dearie."

I giggled. We were so stupid. Acting like that was stupid. But it was fun. Real fun. That's why I like Halloween, or, All Hollow's Eve. You could be anyone you wanted, your terms, no one else's. Besides, I got to spend it with my friend, who was just as crazy and stupid as I was.

When I was done freshening up in the girl's bathroom, I looked in the mirror. I felt really pretty and new in the 1800's dress costume. I was always fascinated by history, so I was awfully excited to wear it. I had my hair curled, too, and it looked so nice to see curls draping my mid-back, and dripping over the off-white ballroom dress that had a built in corset. It had no poof to the sleeves, instead, they just lay delicately over my shoulders. I felt so pleasantly strange in the dress, and yet I felt as if I were born to wear it.

I stepped put of the school restroom and tried to catch Gloria, or I guess, the Phantomess. Before I could, I noticed a group of girls crowding someone or something, but I didn't see what, and a somewhat good-looking boy came over to me, smiled devilishly, winked, and handed me a slip of paper. "My name's Troy. See ya 'round." And walked away.

I never saw him before, so I just assumed he was just a player, a womanizer, or a perved jerk. They're all the same thing, really.

I read the slip and found that it was a phone number. "Pfft, whatever," I tucked the slip into my Age of Enlightenment inspired purse, and walked around to find Gloria. The large group of girls—almost all of the girls at the party—were still crowding around and fussing things, like "You're so cute," or "You're real sexy!" and "Be my boyfriend! Be my lover!" and "Omigosh, I freakin' love you!" and "Can I have your autograph?"

All the other phrases I didn't care about, but when people asked for autographs, I was getting a little concerned. I wondered if there was a superstar at our school. It would never happen, but nothing else would explain the girls' shouts.

I picked up part of my dress so I could walk faster to see the commotion. I noticed—but tried to ignore—the gawks and wide-eyed looks I got from all of the boys I passed. I blushed, not really wanting to know what they found so attractive about a pretty girl in a pretty dress. I mean, I don't want to sound conceited, but I don't think I'm ugly. There are days when I say to myself, "Rebecca, you look like a piece of crap," but I usually get over it, force out a compliment to kind of lift my mood and confidence, and move on. I didn't mind that perhaps some other kids thought that I was pretty, of course, I really liked it, but I thought it was terribly awkward, at least for me, for all of those guys to be staring at me.

I peeked through the crowd and saw black hair. I went on my tip toes and saw half of a white mask and half of a face. I jumped, and the two seconds that I was in the air, I saw Gloria, eyes still closed, her posture and attitude nonchalant, leaning on the wall with one leg resting on it, and her eyebrow was twitching. I squeezed through the crowd, which made me momentarily inspired to go on an extreme diet, and grabbed her gloved hand. I stood by her side, smiled as innocently and genuinely as I could, and tried to lead her out of the mass of phangirls. Some girls spat at my shoes, but most girls just moaned with displeasure. I tried to stay in character as I led her out, but then, she pushed me so she could be in front, as a Phantom should always be in front of their Christine. She rushed me into an empty classroom and huffed, "I hate phangirls. I hate all straight girls."

"Aw, but why? I mean, we're phangirls, and we're both heterosexual, and you could have easily fooled anyone! You tied your hair back, put on a black wig and a white half-mask, taped down your chest down and stuffed a sock in your pants! Not to mention your lovely gentlemen's funeral attire."

"But look at this!"

She opened her palms and threw something at me. Papers. I grabbed one on mid air and saw that it was a bunch of numbers. A phone number. A bunch of phone numbers.

"So? Didn't you hear me? They honestly thought you were a boy! And could you blame them? You really look like a boy dressed as Gerik!"

"But look!" She took off her gloves, and flung more papers at me.

"OK, a couple girls' numbers. So?"

"So? LOOK!" She patted down her white dress shirt, her black vest, and shook her black jacket. Papers.

"OK, several girls' numbers. It's a bit creepy, but what can you expect form a room full of phangirls? Even though I didn't know everyone had watched that movie…then again, for marching band, we did a couple of Andrew Lloyd Webber songs, which included some from _Phantom_. And, you know, that includes chorus club, chorus class, marching band, band class, performance band…and those classes intertwine with theatre arts class, and the theatre club, so when you sum it all up, that's a lot of people getting exposed to phantom-y goodness."

"Ack! It's bloody tyranny!"

"Um, well, kind of…you can think of it that way, I suppose—"

Gloria ignored me, took off her shoes and socks, and more papers with phone numbers exploded from her garments.

In the wonderland of phone numbers, she whispered, "And what do you say to all this?"

"Um, look what I got!" I showed her the number that the Troy fellow gave me.

"Big whoop," she twirled her index finger in the air, dryly celebrating a party.

"Ew, gross, your feet stink," I teased, throwing Troy's number with the others. "Get your socks and shoes back on and let's go back to the Halloween bash and protect each other from phan-people."

She smiled, then took my hand, and said, "I'll do anything you say, _Christine._"

"And I won't do _everything_ you say, _Erik_."

She giggled, and said, "Yeah, 'cause I'm a perv and I want your stockings!"

We laughed for a solid minute, and then, we linked arms, I 'strutted' like a modest prima donna and Gloria stepped silently like a stalker.

It was a good memory, and I was disappointed to wake up.

I woke up, and monstrosities surrounded me.

**Gloria's POV**

I opened my eyes and realized where I was. I was on a loveseat at the end of Rebecca's bed in her room, in Erik's home. I saw Rebecca's relaxed, ignorant form on the bed. She was ignorant to the pain she put me through. I shook my head from the memories of how she got that way that intruded my brain.

I saw her stir, and then she opened her eyes with a start. She sat up, fear in her eyes, and looked into the mirror, and yiped at her reflection. I didn't know why she was frightened of her reflection, so to make a joke, I cooed, "Aw, Becky, you're not that ugly," but when she turned to me, acknowledging my voice, she shrieked her heart out.

I tried to calm her, but in vain. I tried to reach out to her, but she shriveled from my hand and jumped off the bed and landed on a mass of stacked up clothes that Erik made for her. She scooted to the corner, making as much distance as possible away form me. She made several blurred yet crisp movements from her whole, participating body and one continuous screech form her mouth.

I started to bawl, though not nearly as loud as her. Only once or twice in my lifetime have I ever startled Becky; I _never _scared her, not even when I tried. It yanked my heart strings to see her scared to pieces of me. What did she see? She couldn't have seen me. She had to have seen something else. Why would she fear me? Why did she fear her own reflection? What was wrong with her? I looked behind to see if Erik was behind me, but there was nothing. I then looked at the mirror…

I tried to get closer to her, but she flailed her hand and sputtered, "St—st—stop!"

She was gasping, inhaling and exhaling as if she hadn't breathed a breath in years. She was pale, sweaty, and her pupils nearly took up her entire eyeballs.

I whispered, trying to make myself known as a non-threat, "Rebecca—"

She slammed her hands over her ears, squeezed her eyes tight, and huddled into herself, "Stop! Just…stop…"

She was whimpering, crying. What was wrong with her? I couldn't believe that right in front of me, one of the strongest people I knew, was collapsing before my very eyes.

I caught a lump in my throat. "Rebecca,"

She glanced up, and she looked surprised and disgusted to just have to look at me. I noticed that her eyes were glazed and fixed at a distance, even though she was staring right at me. I stayed on the loveseat, but I backed away from her and withdrew my hand. When I did that, she looked relieved, but still afraid.

"Rebecca," I said as passionate-less as I could, "It's me, Gloria."

She stared at me, her eyes turned glossy, clear, and alert. She hesitantly crawled on the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. I sat on he bed next to her, and she scanned the room. She then didn't seem scared of _me_, but of the _room._

"Do you remember me?" I asked.

"Yeah, how could I not remember you?"

"But—but, you got a concussion! And you totally spazzed!"

"Yeah, so what?"

"I'm so happy you're OK!" I hugged her, and she hugged me back, even though I was uncomfortable that she didn't answer why she freaked out.

I remembered watching her last night, so if I just woke up, I must have fallen asleep from having to watch her sleep. I grew scared if Erik hurt her last night, and if that's why she was scared of this room.

"You know, that fellow, Erik…he wears black, has black hair, white mask. Is he really the Phantom, or did I dream that? Or is there someone impersonating him?" She asked.

"What? No, no, he's real."

"Well, I know he did, once, but—"

I clamped my hand over her mouth. I didn't understand why she remembered some things, but not others. I knew that she was hinting that Erik existed at a time, but not anymore…she must have thought that we were in the real-world. I was also worried if Erik was spying on us. "Rebecca, where are we?" I removed my hand.

"Well, Erik was here last night and told me I was at his house,"

"OK, well, if we are in Erik's house, then this is _your_ room. Got it?"

"Wait, what?_ I_ own a room in _someone else's_ house?"

"Yeah, he kinda gave this room to you, sort of." My mind kept flashing to the concern if he did anything to her. "Did he hurt you?"

"Well, no, not really—"

"Then what'd he do?"

"Um, well, since this is his house, he was here, in my room, last night, and we talked about my concussion."

I sighed from relief. Then gasped again. Why didn't she remember anything about her room or his house?

"Rebecca, what year is it?"

She looked at me curiously. "Gloria, I have forgotten a lot, like our trip to France, which I discovered form Erik that we already went on, and that we're at his house, not a hotel. But I _do _know the year—" she gasped. "We were here...in France...for four years?"

"Yeah—"

"Omigosh, it's they year two—"

"No! Be quiet!" I slammed my palm over her mouth. I thought I heard something. I decided not to take any chances with noises. I smiled, "Silly, that concussion seriously scrambled your thoughts. The year doesn't begin with the number two, it's—"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, you're obviously tired and confused—"

"No! You tell me what year it is! If I can barely remember being in France for four years, and only recently remembering where I am, then I want to know the bloody date!"

I heaved another sigh. I leaned close to her and whispered as soft as I could, "We're in the eight-teen-hundreds,"

She pulled away from me. "Nugh-ugh. That's impossible—"

"I _know—"_

"Why are you—" She cut herself off. "I remember going somewhere…I wondered if it was a dream…"

"Tell me!"

"Well, I had a dream that I was floating in a portal and I saw Mother talking to you. Then, I saw you talking to me. I saw myself in the portal. We were in America…home, with Mother and Father. Not in France." I was glad that she didn't say anything about times or the year. She must have caught on to something.

"Gloria, how did I get hit by a carriage? And why do you think I dreamt what I dreamt?"

"Well…I can only tell you from my point of view. We were sliding down a trap door and its tunnels, and you were in front of me. In a split second, you got a lot farther than me, but I could still see you. I saw you…" I was getting choked up. I blamed myself for pushing her in front of me, but then I remembered that I would be walking around just as clueless as she was. But I wanted to suffer whatever she did. I didn't want her suffer, I just wanted the pain. "I saw...you…the momentum rushed you into the air…and you spun in the air, and headfirst…on the wheel of a wagon, bounced off from the force of it, and landed just underneath the tunnels landing, I landed on top of you. You were unconscious, and I couldn't wake you…and perhaps you dreamt what you dreamt because…deep inside, you miss home, but you cannot express it."

She let it sink in, or perhaps she wanted me to clear the lump form my throat, and then asked, "Why exactly did we want to go through that trap door?" She asked me this as if she had wanted to ask for a while but already knew the answer.

"To go home."

"How? Were we hostages?" She grew worried form the thought. "Are we still being held hostage, that's why we can't leave this room? That's why we had to sneak out through a trapdoor?"

"Not exactly…see, at first we were…still are, actually—"

"So we were!"

I remained silent.

She laughed.

And it frightened me.

I begged her to stop, but that only made her cachinnation louder and produced more of it.

I cried.

And she continued.

"Rebecca!" I slapped her out of desperation.

Her insane smile lingered, but then, as if out of a trance, she blinked at me, shook her head as if in disbelief, and swiped the grin off. I saw tears in her eyes developing. "I'm…sorry."

"I'm sorry, too!"

She stopped crying, but I sustained with my tears. She turned away form me, uncomfortable with seeing her friend cry like a baby for no reason and yet for every reason.

"Rebecca, I wanna go home!"

BECKY"S POV

Eventually, Gloria cried herself to sleep on my bed. I saw her eyes roll balmily under her lids, envisioning dreams that could let her escape from all of this.

I had the sensation as if I were being watched, even when I first woke up and saw monsters and images of the real-world playing as if I were in a scary movie.

_The real-world? What an odd phrase for me to come by…_

But it was true. There I was, in another time frame, dressed in some nightgown that Gloria had to put me in because that materialized freak named Erik captured us, and then I saw my American form in the mirror.

I saw myself in the mirror, but it wasn't really me. Something was different, and it was very, very eerie. It was me, but I didn't look like me. I was creepily-calm, I was dressed in different clothes (as I was in a nightgown and my reflection was in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.), and I seemed, altogether, besides just clothes, as if I—my reflection, not my own body—was in the life I had before I came to France. Then, my reflection disappeared from the mirror, leaving me to have the quality of a vampire.

It appeared on the loveseat by my bed and said, "You just started to figure things out! I really doubted that you had it in you to get this far! Don't give up now, just sleep and think some more, and try the mirror!" Then, I saw Gloria, but I assumed it was my evil reflection playing tricks on me, so I retreated to a corner. Then I realized it was Gloria, and there, she slept.

_Don't give up now, just sleep and think some more, and try the mirror!_

_Try the mirror?_

I recalled a magazine article that I read long ago. It said that you can tell when a mirror is a regular mirror or a two-way one. In the 2004 movie of _The Phantom of the Opera_, which is what Erik seemed to be from, had a two-way mirror. He could see Christine, but she could only see her reflection. The magazine said that some stores in a lot of malls had two-way mirrors because some perved robbers, peeping-toms and murderers had built hallow walls and made two-way mirrors to see women undress. It said that if you put the tip of your fingernail in front of the looking-glass, so your nail is touching the surface, you would see a gap between your nail and the mirror if it was a regular mirror. If your nail seemed to touch its own reflection without any space, then it was a false mirror. It only works with your fingernail because it's the only thing you can see the space between you and your reflection. However, it said that you should be looking down at your nail, not at the side, because if you look at the side, then there would not be a gap, but on the side, there is never a gap, real or false mirror.

I scuffled to the mirror and let my nail touch the mirror. _There was no gap._ I tapped the mirror with my nail again, looked at it from all angels, and in all angels, it touched. I yanked my hand form the glass and stared both worried and intrigued at the reflection. I wondered if Erik was there, on the other side, touching the very same glass at the same time I was, wondering what folly I was doing with my finger. He probably was, lurking there, silent as the shadows that surrounded him, mocking me for just finding out that he was always watching.

I turned from the mirror and slid down, both cursing and blessing my demented reflection to momentarily escape my mirror when I was probably half awake and half asleep, and told me so about the mirror. I made sure my back didn't touch the cold mirror, not wanting to be a mere breath away from a scheming, scary, unpredictable wretch. My legs crossed, I glared at the floor, wanting to punch and spit at it for just being there. I was scared because I didn't know how long he had been watching me. I was nervous because I didn't know how much he saw…if he had the decency to turn his head away if I got dressed…I was angry that I was so blind to everything. He felt nothing for me! He only wanted to feel me up! I didn't care what he had said about the rescuing thing about saving only to hurt. He very well could do that. He only lied and implied certain things to make himself look peculiarly innocent. I hated him, cursed him, and I curled my lip at the deuced devil that he was. I wanted him to die so I could run off somewhere and get my life back. I placed my elbows on my crossed knees and rested my head on my hands. Life wasn't meant to be filled with such hate, but I felt it. I felt the hate so strongly that I thought I was going to vomit.

I wanted to go home, I wanted to go home, and I wanted to go home.

Home, home, home.

This wasn't home; it was an unstable shelter that didn't provide protection against the man that made it. My eyes watered, and I could only muster to mutter, "I want to go home, I do, I really, really—"I stopped myself. Hoping and wishing would not do me any good. I thought about what my reflection told me. She doubted I had it in me to get thus far. Some piece of advice. I already tried the mirror, so now what? I leaned on the mirror, in spite of my anger to him; I did it because he couldn't really touch me. He could only touch the hard, glassy silhouette of me, like touching a window that was shut. "I want to go home, I—whoa!"

I fell through the mirror. _Through_ the mirror. No shattering, no breaking. Just through it, like going or falling through water or passing through a curtain. I was in the curtained water for a second or two until I realized that I had been there before. I was in the portal world form my dream! If it was real, then was my dream even a dream? Was it a sign? Could I connect to my other world?

Then I saw me. Not me, but my reflection in the portal. "Hey," She greeted me like I was an old friend. "No time no see? Aren't you happy to see me? You should, 'cause I could be your best friend if you wanted me to." She was sitting, cross legged, floating in the air. I was floating too, but I was trying to right myself, as falling backwards left me lying in space upside down. Eventually I sat as she did, and she continued, "Well, hi, Rebecca, my name's Rebecca."

"Um, hi? Well, not to be blunt, but what are you? My reflection come to life?"

"Well, I'm you! Technically. I'm your average, friendly little double. You know, someone had to take your place when you whisked off like that to that never land of yours."

"What? My double?"

"Well, yeah! You can't have anyone suspecting anything."

"Suspect what?"

"Oi! You still can't remember crap, can ya? Well, let me fix that." She snapped her fingers and derision entered my head. I had to slump over and grab my head. I had to soothe it somehow. It hurt from all the flashes of foreign but familiar memories streaking across my mind at the same time. I remembered everything of everything, every time, and every event. I moaned form the pain, rocking back and forth, feeling dizzy.

"Come on, don't be such a baby! It isn't that bad!" My head still pulsing, I returned my attention to her.

"Yeah, well, that should be better. Got some closure 'bout some stuff, right?"

I remembered the stuff I didn't remember, I even remembered hitting my head against the carriage, talking to Erik about my memories, Charles…

"Yeah, I guess."

"Yep! Good. Well, you figured out the mirror, kinda."

"I did? I what?"

"You figured out how to cross your universes. Any universe."

"Really? Wait…How did I figure it out?"

"From such a strong want of going somewhere, you got there! Through the mirror and only through the mirror."

"So…"I tried to speed the process of the information digestion. "If my desire is so strong, I can go anywhere I want?"

"Yeah! And eventually, if you get good at it, you could go anywhere, though as a normal human, you could only travel to places you've already been to."

"But I've only been to the real-world and the movie-universe,"

"Yeah, but you've been to different times of them, too, and there are different places in the real-world and the movie-world. There are lots of places with mirrors, too, but you have to concentrate on what the place looks like to get there"

"So… I can time travel to places I've already been to?"

"Yeah. It's your decision if you want to go to the past…Watching yourself—me—live your normal life for you…making memories that you didn't experience…then there are other people that see two Rebeccas…"

"But I can go home?"

"Well, it depends what you consider home,"

"Um, I mean home!"

"Well, you also seemed to make yourself comfortable with good old Erik, there,"

I got a little confused, even though I knew I did warm up to Erik, I also remembered that I hated him for not remembering the mirror and his spying. With my memories in my head, I wasn't angry anymore…just curious if he ever looked at me in any way…though I doubted he would do that… but the temptation for him was always there…but for some reason, I thought him a gentleman and that he wouldn't do that.

Even though the opportunity was always available, he wouldn't do that.

If I kept telling myself that, perhaps it would come true…

"But, this isn't about him!"

"Oh, yes it is! How do you think you came upon our little portal in the trapdoor?"

"Um, by mistake?"

"No, it wasn't a mistake. Maybe unexpected, but it wasn't a fluke."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you had such a want to go to the movie-world, _The Phantom of the Opera,_ and it was so strong, that you could enter it without a mirror."

"But…there are others….like people at war that want to go home, or people in jail that want to get out! They have mirrors at those places, sometimes, so why can't they?"

"Well, the people in the war, usually they just want to be with their family more than just being in their house, and you have to want to go somewhere, not follow or be with or be at a place that a person is at. Like, if you wanted to be with Gloria, you would have to know where she was at, and you would have to truly want to go _there,_ not to just be wherever she is, and not want to go there just because she's there. You'd have to find a reason to go there besides who you want to be with. And for criminals, they normally just want to rob a bank, or kill someone. They don't give a crap about where they are. Get it?"

"But….what about people like me? Other phangirls?"

"Well, they just want to be with Erik, not just the place. If Erik didn't exist, or wasn't there, those girls would not care to go to the sewers or France, or whatever movie or book that they learned about him. Also, most phangirls are simply obsessed and only_ think_ that they're in love."

"But…I don't think I was in love."

"Yes, but you loved France."

"Well, yes, my family's origins were there—"

"Besides, family, you actually love France. You don't know anyone there, but you love it."

"Then why am I in the movie universe?"

"Well, you're lucky or unlucky--it depends on your views--for one. And two, you actually wanted to be in this place, the movie-universe of _the Phantom._ Besides Erik, you didn't just want to be wherever he was, you wanted to escape your life, and enter this one. Your want was so strong that it simply came true."

"But….I wasn't abused or anything—"

"Yeah, but you had some minor tragedies in your life, and those piled up enough, and your hope never died, which is what happens to most people with imperfect lives, and you truly believed you make yourself out of something, and truly just wanted to be in the fantasy world, as a fantasy world is always very tempting, you, for one reason or another, believed in fairy tales, like vampires and ghosts and zombies and legends….and portals. Your belief was so pure, so strong, so…..incredible, and your want and hope were so indestructible, that you plopped down a trapdoor's portal. The other time you tried, you didn't truly want to go home. Your want and hope was altered slightly you were on the fence of the true wanting of returning home, and the other side being content with the struggle of Erik and his little world. That's why as you were traveling, though your body was passive, your mind did wander to the portals, but then, you were yanked back to Erik's world. You figured out that you could go the portal again, and you still had the want for it, and the hope for it, so you could, but you were more curious of the portal world than of returning home, so you got to the portals, but you went back home."

"I'm not home!"

"Well, you got plenty comfy here, and that forced you back with Erik. Sure, the portals played no part in your little amnesia, that was just on you, but I gave it back, so, are you grateful, wanna be friends?" She smirked, but her sly grin was somehow very innocent looking.

I mimicked the smug expression. "Absobloodylutely,"

"Well, now that we're friends," her smile grew broader but was as equally sarcastic. "You'll have to understand that I must leave when you return home. Now that you've discovered the way to cross portals, you have no need for me playing as your double anymore."

"Well, who's gonna make you leave, say if you didn't want to?"

Her smile faded, but had a glint in her eye. "Some things aren't meant to be found out by humans," And disappeared. I landed on the other side of the mirror and recognized my old, American, book-crazed-adolescent room with no sign of the other Rebecca.

Good. I didn't like her, anyway.


	23. Chapter 23

It was nighttime. All was silent, undisturbed; unmoved by my return. "Thank you, Rebecca," I muttered, and flung myself to the soft, cool bed with sheets that smelt like me; my lotions that I used in America, my perfumes, my shampoos… not the strange but pleasuring scent of damp roses and death.

I could not sleep, as I was too eager and happy for my arrival to do so. As I felt the rest of the house wake in the early morning, I was wide awake with it.

**Gloria's POV**

I woke up, but I wasn't where I fell asleep. I was in my room that Charles set aside for me. I was alone, but I lacked the courage to get up and open the door, for I did not feel alone. I felt a pair of eyes watching me, somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. Perhaps it was my own paranoia taking a bodily form, scolding me and frowning at me, somewhere, watching me.

I gathered the will to sit up, but I didn't dare to remove the blanket the protected me from the cool, spying air. I looked at the mirror that was the size of the wall. I recalled that Rebecca had a mirror just like this one, and though it went without saying, it crossed both our minds that Erik was watching her through the mirror. Was he also watching me? Was Charles? I rubbed my eyes, hoping to erase the uneasiness form my situation. It didn't. When I removed my hands form my face, I saw Charles, as still as a statue, sitting at the foot of my bed. I jumped and felt the color drain from my face.

"I've frightened you. Forgive me."

"No! Tell me what happened."

He sighed. "You are agitated. Understandable, I suppose. You fell asleep on Rebecca's bed, so I brought you here. Your own bed doesn't suit you, ay?"

I scoffed in return.

His eyes fell to the floor. He was about to say something, but I cut him off. I would say anything to not listen to his horribly wonderful, hypnotizing voice. I shakily exhaled, "Thank you, Charles." I inhaled. "I can be a bother, but I fear for Rebecca and myself." I tried to sound nice and delicate to not get him angry by being cold to him.

His blue eyes returned to me. "You are a bother, but you're also a privilege."

I blankly stared at my hands. "Oh, well, thank you."

"And you don't have to fear for yourself. I wouldn't hurt you. You are a woman, very ladylike and kind, but you have an unfamiliar problem thrown at you, and you don't know how to react. Understandable."

My eyes watered. "And you will allow me to fear for Rebecca?"

"I wouldn't hurt her, but no one really knows Erik; as well as I know him, I can't predict what he will do. He wouldn't really hurt her….but…"

I blinked hard. He said something else, but there was a buzzing in my ears that forced me to ignore him.

"Where is she, now?"

"I…can not say."

"Why not? Doesn't Erik tell you _anything?_ You're his brother! You have to know a thing or two about _something_. It would be your right as his brother."

"Well, he tells me many things, he may even tell me everything, but everything I can not understand. Something has happened to Rebecca, and Erik is…concerned."

"Oh, no, what happened? What did he do?"

"He didn't do anything!" He yelled, but then, recomposed himself, and continued balmily, "Something has happened, and he is…thoughtful of what has happened."

I dropped the blanket. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"I don't know! What he said didn't make sense…something that involved magic, of some sort."

"WHAT? She's not a witch! She's a good Christian! Her nickname is 'Church-Girl!'"

"I know…but that's what he said."

"Word for word?"

"Er, well, he said that she disappeared into a mirror…"

"How'd he know? How'd he see her? Was she—"

"I…_can not say_ how he knows…but, he does. He's thinking about things, don't worry." His words were soothing, but his tone was wrong. It just made me even more nervous. My lip started to tremble, knowing that somehow, in some way, Erik _did _hurt her, but his brother was either lying to me or was simply too stupid to know when someone was lying. He scooted closer to me and cradled me into his chest. I was too uptight and overwhelmed to push him away, so I just let him have the false security of letting it seem that my being was fragile and wanted his enfold.

My body started to shake. If the tale of the Rebecca vanishing through the mirror was true, then she either went home without me or she was trapped in…whatever she was transported to. I found myself returning the embrace, but slowly and grudgingly, as Rebecca was somewhere, and I was the only one truly concerned.

**Hmmm...a short chapter...but, don't worry...the next chapter is reeeaally long, and definitely worth this short one. Don't worry, now, this chapter isn't a filler...Um...please R&R! and, oh ,yeah, and i own Gloria and Rebecca and Charles.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Becky's POV**

"Hey, Becky," said Gloria. "Want some chow?"

Before I could respond, I took in what was in the kitchen. Gloria was dressed in an all black-leather outfit that had her breasts practically bursting out, and it barely covered her bum.

At the table, across from her, a strange young man sat as if he belonged there.

"Hey, babe," said the boy.

_He seemed so familiar…._

"Troy?"

"Yeah, babe, don't ya miss me from last night?"

"Last night?"

"Babe, did you get hammered, or something? Yeah, last night, we snuck in that bar with your sis. Righteous, right?"

"Er…yeah….it was….._righteous_….but I totally got hammered. Too much alcohol for this girl."

A bar? _Would our doubles really do that to us?_

"Ehm….where's Mother?"

"What are you talking about, babe? Your mom left this dump, like, a gazillion years ago. Couldn't take us anymore. You'd think your mom, after watching those gay soap operas and Lifetime movies, she'd understand if your sis wanted to be a stripper and you were to be an alckie. What a whore, that woman."

My mouth dropped, but before they could notice, I slammed it shut again.

"And it was pretty awesome of us to kill your old man, right?" he started suddenly.

"We _what?"_

"Don't you remember anything? What did you drink last night? Me and John killed your old man and we blamed that pedophile across the street. Still in the slammer, though."

"Wh—wh—what?"

"Becky, what's wrong? You usually drink more than you did last night."

"Pfft, maybe she's so used to it that when she doesn't, she gets symptoms!"

They both laughed.

"So, ready for a drink?" Gloria offered.

"At this time?"

"All the time, sister! Bottoms up!" She goofily shoved the beer bottle into my mouth, forcing me to consume a large gulp.

"Feel better, babe?"

"I hate my life. I'm going to my room." I turned to withdraw.

"Hey, babe, if you're going to your room, do you finally wanna do it?"

"No."

"No? You're such a virgin!"

"Thanks,"

"Beck," Gloria interrupted "You've been wanting to do it with Troy for a while. You said you were waiting to afford protection. He has it now, he got it last night, but you didn't have time to do it 'cause we were all so blasted. Don't end up like me. I'm still a virgin, and I'm still waiting on John."

I ran to my room.

I cried.

I broke a couple things, including my sanity.

I couldn't take this life. This wasn't my reality; this was a cruel action that the doubles took. Wiping away my tears, I heard a knock at the door.

"Becca, come on, let me in!" I let her in. I looked behind her to make sure that Troy wasn't behind her in case they were planning to shove more beer down my throat. I closed the door and whispered. "You're not Gloria. You're her double."

An unkind, slanted grin formed on her face that I would have preferred not to have seen. "Right you are, Rebecca-the-Alckie. We had fun screwing with your life. It was a game to us. With you gone, we had the time of our lives."

"Why?!"

"Well, there are doubles all over the universes. However, when we die, like if there's a car crash in your world, lets say, then we, the doubles, wouldn't die, but we'd have to act like we did, letting ourselves escape the bodies in order to get out and move on the next loser that we want to take place for."

"I hate you, and every bloody creature like you."

"But I l-o-ve you, sweetie. Good old Gloria will haffta find out how to enter the portal in this world herself, but you'll have to teach her to do that. Or not. Whichever. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna make-out with your boyfriend."

"Bleh,"

She winked at me and walked out, closing the door behind her.

I cried even harder, hating everything, everyone, in this world, in this life. I was prepared for strange joy, not depression falling into place from the doubles' doings.

I sighed, tears still pouring out, shudders violently overwhelming me, grabbed my perfumes and lotions and my favorite books, and jumped back into the other world. The world that had the most 'real' reality in it.

I fell from the mirror into my chamber in Erik's home, which I now openly considered my home, our home, due to the conditions on the other side. I kicked my things under the bed and sighed. I wiped tears from my cheeks, even though I knew that that simply left a clean slate for more to come.

I glanced up at the mirror to see how pathetic and crazy I looked, and boy, did I see pathetic-ness. Silently scolding myself for leaving my former life through the trapdoor in the first place, I saw a black figure with a glaring, reflecting face behind where I was sitting.

I whirled around, stepping back. I knew it was Erik, but I could never get used to his silence and hiding.

"Erik—"

Before I could say anything else, he glided around my bed, ending his trail next to me, standing much taller than I could jump, and forced me to sit with him on the bed.

"_Where were you?"_ He sounded as if he were punishing a child.

I sniffed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you,"

He growled. "Speak,"

"My former home. It wasn't even my home…it was…some place horrible…through the mirror."

"Sorcery,"

"Sort of, but I'm not a witch or a sorceress."

He stared at me, moving his eyes from one inch of my face to the next. When he finally reached my eyes, he said, "Then show me. How did you do that?"

Then it dawned on me. "How did you know?"

"I saw you,"

"When? How did you see me?" Of course I already knew, but I wanted to hear it from him…even though I didn't want to hear it from him…

He sighed. "The mirror,"

No shock, there.

I sighed in return. "I'll show you. But I don't know if I can,"

He stood, beckoning me to try.

I took his gloved hand in mine, and leaped into the mirror.

We landed on the other side of the mirror-portal, the force of our two bodies forcing us with an 'umpf' on my mattress. Still holding my hand, he stood and cautiously took in his surroundings.

"Through magic…where did we end up?"

"Where I used to live,"

"Where is this?"

"….America…."

"Nonsense. I traveled to many areas in my day. American homes don't look like this."

"That's only because you never went to this certain house."

He glared at me, but said nothing. There was a knock on the door. "Hey babe, you haven't made a sound since your morning drink! How 'bout I make ya moan a bit?"

I crinkled my nose in disgust.

"Babe? Come on, let's do it!"

I shuddered.

"Babe, c'mon!" He pounded on the door, making me jump back, but I was blocked and protected by Erik's chest. He grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to lean on his form and to stay there.

The door opened, and Troy stepped in, immediately reeking of smoke, alcohol, and body odor. "Babe!" After a minute or two, he finally noticed the man behind me. "Yo, who's this crack-head? Are you his whore, or somethin'?" His eyes acknowledged Erik. "Hey she's mine, man, but how much ya paying her?"

"That is not how you talk to any woman, especially a lady. How do you even know this girl?" His grip tightened on my shoulders.

"Aw, yeah! She's my girl! Her name's…..ugh…." His eyes followed a complex, imaginary pattern on my ceiling, then he said, "She's Becky-the-Alckie! Yeah, yeah, Becca! So, anyway, man, how much? I'll sell 'er, but since we never did it, it'll be more 'spensive." He scoffed "Finding a virgin is pretty hard, but it's a curable condition," He pinched my cheek with his gross, slimy fingers. "Ain't that right, baby?"

I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me! I hate you!" I rubbed the muck that was stuck on my face because of his touch. I heard a growling sound come form Erik's throat.

"Listen, you poor excuse for a pig, you have failed to educate yourself with the simple truth that _she is not yours._ She's mine. Who are you, anyway? If she willingly proclaims her disdain for you, why do you talk the way you do about her?" If at all possible, he pulled me closer to his intimidating form.

"She's my girl! She fell for me the moment she saw me. She's totally in love with me! She's my girl! My servant! My stupid dog!" Troy angrily stared Erik in the eye, not seeing anything wrong with talking about me so poorly like I wasn't there.

Troy raised his hand, attempting to slap me, but Erik caught his hand inches from my face. The growling grew louder. He gently pushed me to the side and he wrapped his hands round Troy's neck. He raised him in the air, letting Troy's drunkard legs kick and sway helplessly in the air.

And I did nothing in protest.

Erik threw Troy to the floor, and out of nowhere, his magical lasso came into view, and it found itself comfortably tight around Troy's throat. It quieted his screams, though his yelps increased, it made his face redder, though he was already drunk enough, and it made his coordination poorer, though he was stupid enough to accomplish that on his own. Eventually, Troy stopped fighting back, stopped moving altogether. Inside, I was ecstatic that Troy was dead, that he didn't need to bother me anymore, even though it didn't matter, since I had no thought of returning to this dump after I returned to Erik's home.

Erik removed the noose and turned to me. At some point, I must have been tearing up from the tension of someone being murdered, for there were small droplets of water at the corners of my eyes and my bottom lashes were slightly wet.

I didn't have the gall to move, to wipe the water away, so I just stood there, staring at Erik, like a stupid dog.

He placed the noose into the endless black of his cloak, and one of his gloved hands cupped the one side my face where Troy touched it and attempted to slap, and his other hand was placed on my shoulder.

We just stayed like that, silent, not even thinking of the dead body a mere foot from us. I wanted to continue in that position, to be treated gently, to not be manhandled, to be comforted in an awkward way, to not have booze pushed my way. However, I could not stay in the horrors of this realm.

"We should go, now."

And never return. I couldn't show this world to Gloria. It would be a punishment to her. She doesn't know as much about it as I do…she shouldn't suffer in what she doesn't completely understand…and I'm tempted to say that I shouldn't be punished for what I _do_ understand…

He sighed, not shifting his gaze from me. I broke my eyes from his, making him drop his hands to mine, still feeling him watch me. I lead him back to our home, not looking back to my former looking-glass world.

We stepped into my room, somehow not winded by the strange journey. Erik sat me down on the bed with him, and held me into his upper body, persuading me to be calm and unmoved by the dreaded life on the other side. His arms closed around my frame as he hummed a soothing tune. I had never heard this song in the movie, so I wondered where it came from, even though I knew I'd never find out.

I closed my eyes, attempting to be relaxed so I could compose myself, so I didn't need to cry, do I didn't need to think of the death of my step-father, of the walking out of my step-mother, of the crappy lives our doubles led for us, of the death of a pig named Troy. I must have tried too hard, for I fell asleep, still hearing the hummed song in my unconsciousness.

**Gloria's POV**

"We have to go to her," I exclaimed, tossing the blanket so I could stand.

"No, we don't have to do anything. As far as we know, Erik could have taken care of it by now. He's a fellow that catches on fast, you know."

I folded my arms, staring at him, not doing a good job of being angry because he sat as tall as I could stand, and I was pretty tall.

Gently but firmly and effectively, he grabbed my arms and got me to sit down again. He smiled.

How could anyone smile at a time like this? If I got up and told a stranger my story, they would not have smiled under any circumstances, not even to comfort me, would any stranger have smiled.

He smiled as if someone had told him exactly how I would react if this sort of thing happened, as if he knew this would have happened, as if he had all the answers in front of his face, reading it as he went along with me.

He stood and walked to my bureau. He ran his fingertips along the vanity mirror, and sang,

"_Masquerade,_

_Paper faces on parade…_

_Masquerade,_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you…"_

At the end, his voice, though beautiful, was somehow….not quite right. I saw his reflection through the mirror, and that's when I realized that his expression, though a smile, was sad.

I started to cry silently. I trusted him for some reason, no matter how much I knew that hinted he was so smart…and so stupid.

He must have seen my crying through the mirror, for he turned to me and sat next to me on the bed and held my hands in one of his. "I didn't want you to cry, dear. Don't cry," He stroked my hair with his free hand. "Don't cry…"

**Becky's POV**

When I waked, the memories of the recent past somehow flashed before my eyes, but I remained unfazed. I also realized that I was still sitting on the bed, leaning into Erik.

_I didn't want that to happen._

The hair on my neck stood, and I slowly fixed myself so I wasn't hanging over him. "Er, sorry, Erik. I…didn't mean to inconvenience you…by sleeping on you. I guess I shouldn't have done that." I tried to fight the grogginess in my voice, but I only had a small success.

"I was not inconvenienced. I expected it."

"Oh." Was my wonderful, genius reply.

I leaned back onto him, feeling lightheaded, my muscles were still tight. He hummed the foreign tune again, and it forced me, with a conscious effort from myself, to let by body be less tense. My shoulders actually hurt from having tension in them for so long. I had to be at ease for my own physical well-being's sake. Even though, at this point, that didn't really matter, anyway.

I placed my hand on his chest, next to my chin, finding it awkward that I had the strange desire to keep still and have nothing to do with my hands, my anything.

After a few moments, he straightened, and quickly but carefully allowed his fingers to capture my hand, to let his intertwine with mine.

My eyes widened. I thought he was going to crush my hand, his mere fingers having the power to do that to my whole body.

But he didn't.

Instead, he pushed me back and steadily kept his eyes on mine, loosening his grip on my hand. At that moment, I was the most intrigued by his mask, and how he was so unstable, yet so nonchalant and cold about many things. My fingertips reached up to the edge of his mask, part of my fingers still touching his skin. He immediately, as if on instinct, rushed his hand on top of mine, the act not enabling me to stop, but it was hinted. He closed his eyes, and I could only remember the scraps of detail I had of his memory of Christine, in the movie, hungrily ripping off his mask…only to hate it when removed…

I didn't stop. I didn't know what the emotions or motivations for my or his actions, but I wanted to prove that I was different from Christine, that I was not some grown-up eight-teen year old baby, waiting to be molded into something I'm not, to be told what to be, who to love, what to do.

My other hand held his free one, while the other snaked to his neck, feeling the tips of his dark locks. I could hardly believe that the black hair was a wig, it feeling so soft and flawlessly real. My hand froze on his neck, still holding some strands.

_Maybe it was real…perhaps some unlucky fellow…lost his head…? And his gorgeous black hair?_

_Ew…_

Would he have done that? I didn't want to know. Mentally shunning the thought, I realized that my pause engendered his eyes to open, studying me, prepared for the worst of what I may do.

His stare had the power to apprehend me. But I fought it. I wanted to gain his trust. If I was to live here for the rest of my complicated life, and I had to trust him with my life, he could at least have the trust for me that whenever I touched him, I wasn't going to go on a rampage and slap his white colored camouflage off.

I let my digits trace the curves of his mask, his hand on my wrist all the while. I knew why it was the wrist only. He knew that the muscles in the finger, when tensed, would have a slight affect on the wrist. If he felt any tightening or change in the way my wrist felt, he could swat my hand away before the mask could even be lifted.

Smart guy.

_Paranoid, grudge-holding guy…_

I stopped tracing the mask and strayed to the lower half of his face that wasn't covered. He fascinated me more than ever, letting me do this to him. He didn't seem like he was relaxed at all, which is what confused me. If he was on his guard, then why even allow me to touch him?

His body showed no sign of peacefulness or trust, but he closed his eyes again, which made me think that he wanted to, but couldn't.

I wanted to tell him that he could trust me, that I wasn't Christine, I wasn't an innocent prima donna, that I knew his history and respected it, and even supported some of his decisions—even to kill certain people—since some were better off dead, anyway. I wanted to say that I already knew that he was deformed, and that I saw the movie so many times and so many different interpretations of it that I wasn't afraid of his appearance, and that he didn't need to hide it from me.

I felt so sorry for him; I felt sorry that Life had taught him to be this way, and no matter what happened, he was doomed to be reprimanded for something, one way or another. I knew I could never take the place of Christine, and I didn't—I just wanted to prove to him that there were people that wouldn't recoil because of hideousness, to shun all other opinions and thought patterns, that there were people that wanted to reach out to him…but just didn't know how.

And that was how I was to live from thence on. I would prove myself everyday. This was my life now, and I had to make the best of it….and then make it even better. I was to help him trust me, no matter how suicidal-engendering slow it may be, I would. We could be friends. By how many complicated connections we had to each other, we may be even closer than lovers, but with no romance at all. We may even have romance, I didn't care.

Actually, I did care. I wanted romance, I wanted love, I wanted him.

I can't believe that I would say this, my 'phangirl phantasies' washed away with my former life…I think I loved him.

It was a strange love, complicated and twisted…but I did.

He probably loved me too, most likely in the same, strange way.

And with this strange, complicated, and twisted love, I would have another relationship with Gloria. I would see her again, I knew I would, perhaps sometime soon…or later…I knew I would. I would never tell Gloria about our other life…I would tell any lie she wanted to hear…but never the fantastic lies of the truth. She didn't need to know about something that didn't affect us…anymore. And Charlie…I would get to know him better, too. Perhaps Gloria already knows him enough, and she can tell me all about him, and I tell her all about Erik. What a find group we'd make…two genius, insane brothers, and two fate-twisted half-sisters…how lovely that would be.

I can see it now, and I can't wait to live it.

**Now...wasn't that just a lovely ending? It was cute... R&R, please...**


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